Slytherin!
by Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog
Summary: "Are you sure?" said the small voice. "Well, if you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!" - In which Harry is sorted into Slytherin instead, learns the hard way that good doesn't always come easily, and really, he should have taken the damn hand -eventual HP/DM
1. Sorted!

_A/N Okay, I've been telling myself for ages now that I'll write another fanfic, but the plot bunnies have been mad at me, and I can't even bring myself to look at those crappy twilight parodies. But, as Jooji's b-day is coming up, and, okay, I got mauled by the plot bunnies the other night, here it is._

_**[EDIT] Gotten rid of the bold bits, so here's my warning: Canon excerpts are canon excerpts.**_

_Disclaimer: This is mine! All mine! Oh-wha? Damn, it was all a dream! Harry Potter still belongs to JK, not me._

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><p>Chapter One - Sorted!<p>

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool, praying desperately that the voice wouldn't say he didn't belong anywhere, that there _was_ a mistake; that he should go back, back to the Dursley's. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought, "Any house, any at all."

"Are you sure?" said the small voice. "Well, if you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. Bitter disappointment swept through him as he removed the hat, barely listening to the clapping erupt from the table second from the right. He shot a look at Ron as he walked past, and his gloomy look was returned from the first friend he'd made at Hogwarts.

The Slytherin table were still clapping as he walked past, several of them clapping him on the back as he went by. Beyond them, he could see Malfoy smirking at him, but Harry stopped and immediately sat down, not wanting to be anywhere near the smug blonde. He had sat down next to a burly boy with a mop of blonde hair and Hermione Granger**.

"Guess we're in the same house" Harry said to her with a nervous smile. She nodded curtly before returning to watching the rest of the sorting. Ron had just stumbled up to the sorting hat looking slightly green, then a second later the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry's stomach plummeted with the last small hope that Ron might also be in the same house as him as the final boy 'Zabini, Blaise' was made a Slytherin.

Albus Dumbledore had got to his feet. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

"Is he – a bit mad?" he asked the older boy next to him uncertainly, nodding to Dumbledore.

The boy shrugged. "Dumbledore's one of the greatest wizards of our time, or so they say. With great power comes great insanity. Mmm, Yorkshire pudding."

Harry's mouth fell open as the golden dishes suddenly filled with food. He immediately helped himself to a bit of everything and moaned at the delicious tastes. A squat boy across the table was busy wolfing down as much as he could eat, shovelling food into his mouth so fast he didn't seem to be chewing. The sallow girl beside Hermione looked sick as gravy spattered the table.

Harry's neighbour finally paused in his meal to scowl at the other boy angrily. "For Merlin's sake Bole, slow down, you're embarrassing yourself."

With a giant effort, Bole swallowed his mouthful and shook his drumstick at the older boy. "I've got to eat more, build up my strength. I'm trying out for the team this year."

The blonde boy blinked slowly. "Blimey, I didn't know you knew how to ride a broom, Bole!" he said with mock surprise. "That'll be a sight; I've never seen a shaven gorilla on a broomstick before."

A hard-faced girl sitting on Bole's right burst into laughter as Bole frowned, evidently confused. Smirking, the other boy turned to Harry. "Terrence Higgs" he said with a wink. "Seventh year. I play Seeker for Slytherin. And you're Harry Potter."

"Er, yeah" said Harry, feeling embarrassed at the way Higgs' eyes stared at his forehead. "So, you play Seeker?" he said, cursing his feeble attempt at conversation.

But Higgs didn't seem to care, because he immediately went into talking about Quidditch with an enthusiasm that rivalled Ron's. Immediately Harry regretted thinking of Ron, unable to help himself glancing longingly across at the Gryffindor table at the smallest redhead who was chatting happily with the other first years.

Harry was halfway through his second slice of treacle tart when a familiar drawling voice spoke. "Well well, Potter's brand new friend has abandoned him huh?" Malfoy said as he sat down across from Harry. Crabbe and Goyle both squeezed in next to him, squashing their neighbours until they forced a dark-skinned girl to get up and move with a few choice words at the two.

Harry was busy scowling at Malfoy. "Just because we're in different houses now doesn't mean me and Ron can't be friends" he spat at the blonde. At once both Bole and Higgs laughed, Bole spraying food across the table and onto Nott, a fellow first year.

"Ah bless him, first years are so naïve" Higgs chortled, patting Harry shoulder fondly. Harry blushed at the condescending tone. "Listen Potter, Slytherins and Gryffindors hate one another on principle. We never associate with riff-raff like them" explained Higgs with a patient smile.

"Ah, but Potter can tell the wrong sort for himself, can't he" said Malfoy, throwing Harry's earlier words back at him. "He just loves paling around with blood traitors and mudbloods."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I don't even know what a mudblood _is_ Malfoy, so how am I supposed to know not to hang out with one?"

This time Daphne Greengrass, the sallow girl beside Hermione answered, "Mudblood, Potter, you know, a _muggleborn_." Her face twisted in disdain as she spat the word like some horrible swear.

Hermione immediately drew herself up and threw a contemptuous look at Daphne. "For your information, _I_ happen to be muggleborn" she snapped angrily, instantly causing Daphne to shoot backwards in her seat and lean as far away from Hermione as possible, as though she was diseased.

"A mudblood?" chimed in Pansy Parkinson, the girl beside Bole, staring at Hermione opened mouthed. "In Slytherin?"

Hermione was beginning to look a little less sure of herself. "Well, the sorting hat _did_ place me here," she said as defiantly as possible with everyone in the vicinity goggling at her.

Harry, despite his dislike for her bossy attitude, bristled in her defence. "So she's muggleborn, so what? There's nothing that can be done now, is there?" he said crossly, and Hermione smiled at him in gratitude.

Higgs stared at her for a long moment, before shaking his head. "Well, blimey. I think you'll be the first mudblood in Slytherin. You'd better know some damn good jinxes if you want any peace," he said with a grin, "Otherwise you'll be waking up with tentacles. Or green. Or in the Lake with the Giant Squid."

Hermione looked horrified, "B-but surely that's against the rules!" she gasped, eyes wide. "I mean, no one will try and… _attack_ me, will they?"

Higgs didn't answer, turning back to his dessert, but the Malfoy instantly took up the question with glee. "Oh you don't have to worry about a thing," he said cheerily, and Harry instantly became suspicious, narrowing his eyes at him. Malfoy continued unperturbed, "Slytherins are nothing if not subtle. If you _do_ get jinxed, well, more correctly, _when_ you get jinxed, you won't even know what hit you. And no one will ever be able to _prove_ anything, that is, if you go to the teachers. Of course, tattling to them just means you're weak."

Malfoy grinned slyly and looked Harry in the eye as he continued, "And weak doesn't belong in Slytherin. Weak doesn't _survive_ long in Slytherin."

Harry had never really thought he could hate someone more than he did any of the Dursleys, but looking into Malfoy's pale grey eyes, he decided perhaps he'd been wrong.

Tearing his eyes away from the arrogant face, he let his eyes wander up to the High Table. At the far end sat Hagrid, who lowered his goblet and grinned at him, giving him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. Another face he recognised was the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, who looked slightly ridiculous in a large purple turban. He was talking to his neighbour, a hooked nosed teacher with greasy black hair.

"Who's that teacher speaking with Professor Quirrell?" he asked Higgs, who looked faintly annoyed with the constant interruptions to his meal.

"That's Professor Snape, our head of house" said Higgs dismissively. But now he'd caught the interest of the others.

"What does he teach?" asked the dark-skinned boy, Blaise Zabini, peering curiously around Hermione.

Glaring at them all, Higgs spat through gritted teeth, "Potions. Now stop talking to me or you lot will most definitely find yourselves jinxed tonight." Turning back to his éclair, he stabbed at it furiously, but just as he brought it to his mouth, all the remaining food vanished. Cursing angrily, Higgs turned away as the others all roared with laughter.

The hall fell silent as Dumbledore stood once more. "Just a few start-of-term announcements before we all go off to bed. First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all students. Our caretaker Mr Filch asks me to remind you all that there is no magic allowed in the corridors in-between classes. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term-" ("Excellent!" Bole barked) "-and anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, this year the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is off limits to everyone not wishing to suffer a painful death. And now, before we go to bed, let's all sing the school song!"

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><p>Harry was exhausted when they finally were dismissed, almost dragging his feet as he followed Hermione blindly through the castle. He was only half aware that they were heading down, until at last they stopped before a blank patch of stone wall.<p>

Pucey, the prefect leading the first years stepped forward and said in an authoritative voice, "Aurum potestas est.**"

A stone door concealed in the wall slid open, revealing the Slytherin common room, a long underground room with stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. Ornate wooden armchairs with velvet cushions sat around an elaborately carved mantelpiece, where a fire crackled, its warmth radiating throughout the room.

Harry felt like he was underwater in a very warm pool, which only served to make him sleepier than before. The girls filed off to their dormitories and Harry reluctantly moved away with Malfoy to their room. At the end of a low hall he at last found his bed: five*** four-posters hung with emerald-green velvet curtains, their trunks lining the walls. Harry quickly changed into his pyjamas, too tired to be irritated that Malfoy had chosen the bed next to him.

"You can hate me if you want," Malfoy murmured to Harry as he yanked the curtains across, but the soft voice slithered through the fabric regardless. "But we'll be spending the next seven years together. Can you keep up this grudge for that long?"

"Only if you keep making it so easy, Malfoy" he whispered back, his head hitting the pillow and sleep already halfway to claiming him.

The last thing he heard was a drawling voice sigh, "Just for you, Potter, just for you."

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><p><em>*In my world, Hermione is Slytherin. Why? Despite being muggleborn, she's brilliant. Why put her in Gryffindor when she so clearly belongs to Ravenclaw? Well, if Harry doesn't get to be, neither does she. And I need someone to be Harry's friend.<em>

_**First one to get where this is from gets a request! Anything you want in the story shall appear!_

_***I've cut Theodore Nott from the story, because a) there's not enough space, and b) damn it, he's not important enough to warrant a place in this story! He's not even good looking, or gets any dialogue. So he's been shipped off to Durmstrang or home-schooled or something, if anyone cares._

_A/N Well there you have it, my first chapter to what I pray will be a multi-chapter that I actually complete this time around. Reviews will give me the strength to carry on! Oh, and if anyone's wondering, I am considering making Harry dark, or gay for Draco, captured by Voldemort, or any and all of the above, but the second one is probably a given… maybe. Flames are not welcome, but suggestions are. And remember my Duckies! Rabbit loves you!_


	2. Potions!

_A/N Hello my Duckies! Thank you so much those who reviewed, and to all those who've favourited and/or alerted this story, it makes me so happy XD_

_And deatheagle202 thanks for being the first to review, and just because you were, I'll most definitely being adding your suggestion because yes, I think those situations are so cute and hilarious, though it most definitely won't be happening in private ;)_

_Also, when rereading the first chapter, I noticed Nott had somehow slipped in there. Just ignore him, he's not really there :3_

_FYI, I'm messing around with the pacing of the story, and if you want more focusing on Harry's school life, or less, just let me know, because I'm trying to get through the boring years as quickly as possible whilst still focusing on Harry and Draco's growing relationship. Also, I've started a poll on my profile page concerning Harry's allegiance (will he be Light or Dark?), as even I don't know at this point _

_Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling and owned Harry Potter, I'd have a pool filled with chocolate Wonka style, but as it stands, I'm sitting here in my pyjamas secretly hoarding m&m's._

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><p>Chapter Two – Potions!<p>

Despite the majesty a castle offered, it wasn't the best place for a school at be. Particularly, mused Harry glumly, a _magic_ castle, what with doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, vanishing steps, ghosts, and the resident poltergeist, Peeves. _And a hundred and forty-two staircases!_

Of course, Harry loved all these magical things, and loved Hogwarts even more for it, despite its many eccentricities. However, when he was stuck up to his thigh in the trick step on one of the _hundred and forty-two staircases_ with Malfoy roaring with laughter at various students openly staring at him as they passed, his delight in the magical elements were, understandably, significantly low at the time.

"Damn it Malfoy, either help me out or piss off!" he snarled, frantically yanking at his leg as a group of fourth year girls giggled loudly at him.

Mercifully, or perhaps unfortunately, the rest of his house had left their last class earlier, leaving him to bicker loudly with Malfoy. Which was precisely the reason he forgot all about the trick step. "This is all _your_ fault!" Harry spat as his leg sunk another inch.

Malfoy peered down at him, grinning cruelly. "How mean of you, blaming me!" he exclaimed with mock hurt. "But what were those options again? Help you or leave you? I think I'll go, and you can remain there until the weekend if you want."

He turned to go and Harry swore furiously. The students were beginning to thin out, and help seemed unlikely. Houses seemed to stick together and look after their own, and from what he'd observed of Slytherin, none of the older years would be helping him out. It was time to swallow his pride, if only for a moment.

"Hang on Malfoy!" he called out desperately, but Malfoy kept climbing the staircase. Harry panicked; Malfoy wasn't really going to leave him there, was he? "Malfoy, don't go! I need your help!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry felt his face heat up. Damn it all, but he'd never felt so pathetic in his entire life. Thankfully, Malfoy had paused, then slowly turned around. He wore the biggest shit-eating grin, and cocking his head to the side, regarded Harry with unconcealed glee.

"What was that Potter?" he asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.

"You heard me!" Harry snarled back, refusing to have to repeat himself.

"Yeah, I did," admitted Malfoy with a smirk, "But I want you to say it again."

Well shit. Now Harry was more than literally stuck. To stay there or to beg? Gritting his teeth, he spat out with forced politeness, "Malfoy, I really would appreciate it if you helped me out of this damn step."

To his utter relief, Malfoy finally moved, taking each stair with deliberate slowness. Locking his eyes with Harry's, he stretched out a hand. Immediately, Harry was reminded of the train to Hogwarts, and the offered hand of friendship. And the refusal. His reached for Malfoy's hand. Those grey eyes flared with triumph.

Before Malfoy jerked his hand back. "Sorry Potter" he whispered maliciously. "But now we're even. Next time, don't refuse help when it's offered. See you around." And with a twirl of his robes, he vanished up the stairs, smiling at Harry's scream of rage.

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><p>"Oh my! Late on your first lesson!" squeaked the tiny Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, as Harry finally entered the classroom red-faced and flushed. "And you are…?"<p>

"Harry Potter, sir" he muttered, "Sorry I'm so late sir, but I fell in the trick step and I had to wait until a teacher went by to get out again."

Professor Flitwick gave an excited squeak at this and toppled off of the pile of books he was standing on. When he re-emerged, he was beaming at Harry. "Well then, no harm done, this _is_ your first week here, so tardiness is forgivable. But was there no one there to help you? A fellow classmate, perhaps?"

At this, Harry threw a venomous glare at Malfoy, who pulled a face at Harry behind Flitwick's back. "No one sir" he lied, taking his seat beside Tracey Davis. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out Hermione scowling at him, and wondered what it was he'd possibly done to upset her.

But as they made their way to Transfiguration, he found out as Hermione caught up to him to give him a very long and very boring lecture on school rules as the horrors of tardiness. Luckily, his fellow Slytherins were there to interrupt her.

"Honestly Hermione, you sound as if school rules are meant to always be followed" said Daphne in exasperation. "Give Harry a break, it was an accident he was late."

"Besides," chimed in Blaise, "Rules are _meant_ to be broken, and none more so than school rules."

"But-" Hermione began, but Malfoy cut her off.

"No Granger, that's nonnegotiable. Slytherins only follow rules when they work in our favour. Otherwise, they're there as general guidelines, to be broken or bent to our advantage. That's why the other houses suck: they always follow the rules, Gryffindor more than most. And remember, nothing's illegal until you're caught, and even then it's not set in stone."

This had been the most Malfoy had said to Hermione since the opening feast that she remained opened mouthed long after he'd left. As one pureblood to a muggleborn, she evidently didn't dare to not listen to his words, but she remained quiet for the rest of the day, which was great as far as the rest of them were concerned.

Despite the added complications of finding the classes, the lessons themselves were turning out to be a lot harder than Harry predicted. There was a lot more to magic than simply waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Friday was an important day for Harry, one he'd been both dreading and waiting for all week. He'd managed to get through his first week of classes so far, and was pleased to see that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. It was obvious that neither Vincent nor Gregory had much when it came to thinking beyond "chocolate or vanilla", and Millicent Bulstrode was clearly not blessed with either beauty or brains. However, Hermione seemed intent on besting all her classmates, determined to prove herself worthy of being in Slytherin, something that boosted her already low points. And the points were another thing.

Learning how to navigate Hogwarts, and even the subjects, were nothing, _nothing_, compared to how difficult as surviving the Slytherin House.

Harry had very quickly realised that his house was like none of the others. The different years didn't really associate with others beyond their own, and in the years themselves small friendship groups would form, girls befriending girls, guys having one or two close friends.

There was none of that in Slytherin.

Instead, the Slytherin house was based on a complex hierarchy that included every year. It took some time, but eventually Harry concluded that the hierarchy worked on something like a point system, similar to house points, with the people with the most at the top and the lowest at the bottom, and worst of all, a constant fluctuation in ranks, meaning one had to be constantly aware of who were placed at what.

How one scored owed to various factors. For example, a pureblood would have 20 points, whilst a half-blood only 5. But blood status alone only counts for so much in Slytherin. Vincent and Gregory were both purebloods, and both of them complete morons. Sure they had brute strength, and using intimidation and physical power over someone was seen as acceptable, but not considered an achievement in of its self.

Slytherins prided themselves on their cunning and their ambition, and if one had neither, they were immediately ranked lower on the social ladder like as not. It was cunning over ambition, ambition over cleverness, cleverness over loyalty, and loyalty over bravery. Courage was a tricky characteristic, as one must need courage in order to succeed, but it can also equate into foolhardiness, impulsiveness, and perseverance. Slytherins had to know the difference in an objective worth persisting in and one that must be given up as a dud.

Currently, Harry had about 55 points; 5 as a half-blood, 10 as a first year, 10 because he was moderately clever, another 10 for his determination to succeed in school and social, and 20 because he was famous. Normally first years ranked quite low initially, as they were considered variables, with their true worth and character to be determined more solidly in years to come when they were older. Harry was unusually high because of the added bonus of fame boosting him up, but he was nowhere near the top in his year. And in all honesty, Harry was just happy he wasn't coming last in the points department.

Millicent was the only other half-blood, but only came in at a 34, being neither exceptionally beautiful nor clever, something the girls focused on with startling intensity.

But in last place, was, unsurprisingly, Hermione.

As a muggleborn, she got minus points, something that had never happened before in Slytherin. However, that had all changed when after only a couple of classes it became obvious that she was not only extremely smart but also talented and determined to be the best. Only these things combined allowed her to get a 10, and despite her abysmal score, the other Slytherins regarded her with something close to approval.

Slytherins also didn't have cliques within year groups, instead choosing to mingle with one another equally. This ensured that if any one of them turned out to be successful in the future, everyone else would be at least on close terms with them.

Thanks to Dudley, Harry had never had any friends before, and finding himself suddenly apart of a large group and liked, he had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. He was socially awkward enough without suddenly gaining nine friends who were all not nearly as socially stunted as he was.

And despite all his reservations about Slytherin, Harry found himself enjoying (if not still a little overwhelmed) having friends. Though perhaps saying they were all friends was an exaggeration, because Malfoy was definitely not his friend (more like mortal enemy) and Hermione was such a bossy know-it-all who didn't seem the slightest bit interested in befriending any of them.

Which was why Friday was so important. They had Double Potions with the Gryffindors, and it would be the first time Harry would get a chance to talk to Ron since the sorting. What's more, it wasn't just keeping a potential friendship that made the lesson so critical, as the Slytherins would be watching to see how he treated the Gryffindors, especially Ron as a Weasley and a blood traitor, which would be a decisive factor in his social standing with the rest of his house.

If Harry wanted to remain on 55 points and keep on speaking terms with his housemates, he would have to snub Ron. And even snubbing may not be enough; he may have to be downright disdainful, Draco Malfoy style. Because Ron, blood traitor status aside, was a Gryffindor.

And if that wasn't enough pressure for Harry to feel slightly sick about the upcoming lesson, it would also be his first class with Professor Snape, his head of house. During the start of term feast, there had been a brief second when Snape had looked up and caught Harry's eye. And in that brief moment, Harry had seen an ominous darkness of dislike.

During breakfast, Harry could practically feel the eyes of his fellow Slytherins boring into him, waiting for him to take his stance on the proverbial battlefield between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Just then, the post arrived, bringing a welcome distraction to the table.

Hedwig had been visiting him every day, nibbling on his toast and giving his ear an affectionate nip, but today she landed in front of him and dropped a letter onto his plate. Wondering who on earth it was from, Harry tore it open at once.

"_**Dear Harry, (it said, in a very untidy scrawl)  
>I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.<br>Hagrid"**_

Harry was just about to reply when the note was snatched from his grasp. He looked up to see Malfoy smirking at him across the table. Since day one, Harry and Malfoy had been making a point to sit directly across from one another, the better to throw a venomous glare to one another and kick the others shins.

"Who's sent you a letter Potter?" he drawled, unfolding the letter with a flourish.

"Give it back!" Harry snatched desperately for the note but Malfoy simply leant backwards out of reach. His grey eyes widened as he read.

Harry felt his ears burn. Malfoy had been receiving sweets and the like from home nearly every day, something he would pointedly rub in Harry's face. Harry could just imagine how Malfoy would hold this over him; he'd already made his opinion of the gamekeeper clear at Diagon Alley.

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh. "_Tea_? With that great oaf? Merlin Potter, are you really that desperate for company, or do you just like befriending half-wits?" He glanced openly over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was shovelling food into his mouth like he'd never eat again.

Harry stood angrily, glaring at Malfoy. He didn't need any reminders of his budding friendship with Ron, not today when it would probably be all over. "Don't you dare say that about Hagrid!" he snarled, ignoring the looks this attracted from the rest of the table. "You don't know anything about him, Malfoy! Hagrid's really cool and interesting, which is more than I can say about _you_."

Malfoy flushed pink and Harry took the opportunity to snatch back his letter. "Yes, please, I'll see you later" he wrote on the back, speaking out loud so Malfoy knew his answer.

As Hedwig took off again, Harry and Malfoy were locked in a silent battle of wills, staring one another down, not even looking away when the others resumed talking. Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy as Blaise stole the kippers from his plate. Malfoy glared back, not breaking eye contact as he passed the syrup to Vincent.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because Potions turned out to be the worst thing that had happened so far.

It seemed that Harry needn't have worried about Ron, because he never even got the chance to approach him. Perhaps they were concerned for his welfare (unlikely), but as soon as they entered the dungeons, Harry found himself immediately flanked on all sides by the other Slytherins. The Gryffindors were already there, and Harry noticed Ron sitting beside the round faced boy from the train who had lost his toad.

The actions of the Slytherins didn't go unnoticed, and Harry was sure that it was for the benefit of Ron, who seemed to have had the same idea as Harry to speak come Potions. He'd stood slightly in his seat when Harry had arrived, but as soon as he noticed Harry's 'guard', Ron sank back down looking mildly disappointed.

Harry was steered into a seat sandwiched between Blaise and Daphne, both of whom sneered at the Gryffindors who were staring at them. One of them, an Indian girl, turned to her friend and whispered something to her. They both glanced over their shoulder at Harry and giggled loudly.

Heat crept up his neck; he hated all of this strange attention. He was used to being totally ignored, and suddenly being famous made him immensely uncomfortable.

Behind the two girls, Ron had a strained, slightly constipated look on his face, before he promptly stood, and looking determined, made his way over towards Harry. Immediately, both Daphne and Blaise tensed and shifted closer.

In a strange way, Harry felt touched by their protectiveness, if not a little annoyed that they were being interfering. The defensive gesture seemed to throw Ron, who faltered slightly before he stopped in front of their desk.

"Er, hullo Harry" he stammered, glancing nervously at Vincent, who was watching the redhead intently with a frown.

There it was: the moment of truth. Was Harry going to be nice to Ron, someone whom he liked but could never be friends with now that they were in opposing houses, and face being totally ostracised by his entire House? Or would he make the choice any formerly friendless eleven year old would make thanks to peer pressure?

"Weasley" he greeted neutrally, because he wasn't going to be all and out mean to him, that was Malfoy's job.

For a second, a very brief second as Ron's face fell; Harry felt a twinge of sadness over losing the first friend he'd ever had. But only for a second.

Ron stood there looking torn, his mouth slightly open as though he wished to something more, but Blaise butted in. "Is there something you wanted, _Weasley_?" he asked coldly, spitting his surname like a curse word.

Ron jerked back in surprise at the tone, before he glared at Blaise. "Nothing from _you_" he snapped fiercely, but Daphne immediately joined in.

"Well if all you wanted to do was get close to some _real_ wizards, congratulations, you've succeeded," she purred, her voice like ice, "So off you run back with the rest of those mutts like a good dog."

Ron looked furious and looked like he was seriously contemplating hitting her, when Professor Snape strode in.

"Sit" he snapped at Ron, who scurried away to his seat, while the Slytherins laughed and woofed and barked at him as he went. 'Well then', though Harry gloomily, 'that's the end of that'.

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><p><em>AN And that's the end of that... chapter. I'm trying to make them longer, I really am, and hopefully one day I'll get over 10 pages, but until then I'll dare to dream._

_Reviews are welcome, as are suggestions. But please, if anyone out there is like, 'hey, this is my idea!' I sincerely apologise, this is based on a crazy arse dream of mine, and the similarities are purely coincidental and stuff._


	3. Flying!

_A/N Greetings my duckies! Due to all the lovely reviews and story favs/alerts I've decided to update again, even though I promised myself to make it a chapter a week. On another note, this is going to be eventual harryxdraco slash, and when I say eventual, I mean it will be quite a bit down the track, because I'm not a fan of underaged boys getting nasty before they even hit puberty. There will also not be any Gryffindor or Ron bashing, just in case it may have come off that way last chapter._

_Please visit my Slytherin! poll on my profile. Also, I can't be bothered showing what I took directly from the book, but if you realise that some of the story sounds familiar, that's because it is._

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Voldemort would still be pretty._

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><p>Chapter 3 – Flying!<p>

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.

He hadn't forgiven Malfoy for leaving him in that trick stair, and had gotten a small form of revenge when he had tea with Hagrid, coming back later to gush over how nice it was and tell over the top stories about the Forbidden Forest, saying how he had heard werewolf howls right outside the door. Malfoy had looked pale during his recount, and his insults had lacked his usual bite, but Harry was steadfastly ignoring him, refusing to acknowledge him in the slightest. Fortunately, this infuriated Malfoy, who loathed being ignored.

But Harry was definitely paying him attention now, as he swore loudly over breakfast on Monday morning. Greg had had to seize the back of Harry's robes when he launched himself at Malfoy who was laughing so hard he seemed unable to breath. He was still employing some of Uncle Vernon's juiciest curses when he heard a cold voice behind him.

"What's going on here, Potter?"

Blanching, Harry turned to find the black eyes of Professor Snape glaring down at him, his lip curled. After their first Potions lesson, Harry had gotten the distinct impression that Snape disliked him. Of course, Snape seemed to dislike most of his students, but there had been a definite animosity directed towards Harry in particular throughout the lesson. Since then, he'd been shrinking away whenever he came near his head of house, hiding behind the others in an effort not to attract Snape's mire.

"My teacup bit me Professor" Harry said, feeling faintly silly by the sentence, but as a warm trickle made its way over his lips, all of his fury rose once more. He shot Draco a venomous glance, who was shaking with quiet laughter.

Snape eyed his bleeding nose, before picking up the aforementioned cup. His dark eyes roved the cup before he said quietly, "A Nose-Biting Teacup, I believe," fixing Harry with an unpleasant smile, Snape continued, "However, a mere joke item is no reason for that foul language during breakfast. I expect you'll remember that, or next time I will be forced to deduct point from my own house, understand?"

"But sir-"

"I said," Snape's voice going dangerously soft, "Understand, Potter?"

"Yes, sir" muttered Harry sulkily, and Snape swept away. The rest of the table began to talk again, having watched the display with glee. Malfoy had had to bit into his knuckles to keep quiet as Harry was lectured, but free once more he burst out laughing as Harry sat back down, humiliated.

"Poor Harry" Daphne crooned, leaning over to wipe the blood off of his chin. "That silly teacup damaged your pretty face."

Harry blushed, but when Malfoy choked at the comment, he mustered his best puppy-dog face, biting his lip and looking up through his fringe. "Will it scar? I don't think I can handle another one on my face." It was laying it on a bit thick, but watching Dudley work Aunt Petunia, he figured girls ate this kind of thing up.

It worked, because immediately the girls began to fuss over him, showering him with assurances and informing him that scars were "macho". Malfoy looked furious.

* * *

><p>There was a notice pinned up in the common room. First years would be receiving flying lessons, starting Thursday.<p>

Harry was ecstatic. He'd been looking forward to learning how to fly more than anything else, and even learning with the Gryffindors couldn't damper his spirits. He and Blaise chatted about it all the way to lunch, with Blaise telling him about his few times flying on holidays in Italy.

His good mood continued until Millie asked him curiously what he was so happy about. As soon as the words "flying lessons" left his mouth, that good mood ended. Malfoy's head shot up, and he immediately began bragging about his own flying finesse. This was something Harry had completely forgotten.

Draco talked about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting in the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. This only stopped when Harry pointed out that if he kept almost crashing into helicopters as often as he said, maybe he wasn't so good after all.

Hermione was almost as anxious about flying as Harry was, though for different reasons. This was something you couldn't learn off by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. Tracey was the only other who had never flown before – her mother was extremely overprotective of her – but when she told Hermione this to reassure her, Hermione immediately turned around and bored them all stupid by spouting annoying little facts from _Quidditch through the Ages_, a library book she'd borrowed.

By Thursday morning, Harry was so nervous and excited that he was unable to eat anything. While Daphne attempted to coax him into eating something ("You can't afford to skip meals Bambi*," she sniffed, nudging the pancakes towards him, "You're too skinny as it is!"), Blaise gleefully described all of the flying horror stories he'd ever heard. When Harry and Hermione looked green after a particularly nasty tale involving a wizard and a jet engine, Pansy exploded, furiously yelling at Blaise to shut it before he turned them all off breakfast.

Whenever it came to Draco Malfoy, Harry had supersonic senses, and his head swivelled around at the mention of his rival's name. Malfoy was at the Gryffindor table, the transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall towering over him. Neville Longbottom, the round faced boy from the train, had his hand outstretched.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," cried Neville. Malfoy scowled, dropping it back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, sloping away with Grey and Vince behind him.

When he sat down at the Slytherin table, Malfoy's furious expression warned everyone not to broach the subject, but Harry felt his skin prickle ominously. The dark glower on the blonde boy's face could mean nothing good.

* * *

><p>At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry and the other Slytherins trooped down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson.<p>

They arrived at a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, where twenty broomsticks were lying in neat lines on the ground. The Gryffindors hadn't arrived yet.

Malfoy seemed to have shaken off his bad mood from earlier as he sidled over to Harry with a smirk. "Scared you'll fall off the broom Potter?" he asked, nudging him knowingly.

"Not at all," Harry said, his voice belying his nervousness.

"Leave Bambi alone Draco," chastised Daphne, who smiled at Harry. "Save it for the Gryffindors."

Malfoy frowned. "I'll leave Potter alone when you stop calling him that ridiculous nickname," he said venomously. "Honestly, stop babying him, the way you treat him is pathetic."

Daphne flushed crimson. "I'm not _babying_ him!" snapped, her voice rising in pitch.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, sneering at her. "Mooning over the famous Boy-Who-Lived are we? Only been a week and already you've pulled out the pet names; you sure like to move _fast_, huh?"

She blushed so hard it was surprising her skin didn't slough right off. Harry couldn't believe Malfoy would be so mean as to reduce a girl almost to tears, but he didn't say a word. It may only be his second week in Slytherin, but he'd grown up around Dudley, who may not have been as smart as Malfoy, but the intention was the same. He could recognise a power play when he saw one.

Besides, her fussing over him all the time was beginning to get unbearable.

Daphne opened her mouth, glancing aside at the other girls for backup. Pansy resolutely looked away, and neither Tracey nor Millie could help her – they were only half-bloods.

Squaring her shoulders, she glared hard at Malfoy. "Whatever" she snarled, whipping her hair over her shoulders as she marched away.

Malfoy shrugged but didn't move away, instead shooting smug looks to Harry, who was puzzling over what had just happened. Clearly Malfoy felt that the only one with any control of Harry should be himself, but why on earth was he being so domineering? Surely it didn't matter if Daphne fawned over him or not. Or was he jealous? Did he like her? She certainly was pretty, but that still didn't explain why he was so mean to her.

He was thankful when the Gryffindors arrived followed by their teacher Madam Hooch, who with her short grey hair and yellow eyes vaguely resembled Malfoy's eagle owl.

When they were all instructed to stand beside a broom, Harry was frustrated to see Malfoy had decided to stay beside him.

Once they were all in position, Madam Hooch barked from the front, "Stick your right hand over your broom and say, "Up!"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, and he grinned triumphantly at Malfoy. But the blonde also had his broom hand and merely raised two silvery eyebrows. Harry flushed, turning back to the front. He was pleased to note that others' brooms hadn't done the same; Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville Longbottom's hadn't moved at all.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end ("Luckily for you Potter," Malfoy muttered out the corner of his mouth), and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Harry was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

Then it was finally time. They were only going to fly a few feet off the ground at first, but it was still _flying_! This was it, what he'd been waiting for since he'd seen the brooms at Diagon Alley. His heart thundering in his chest, Harry glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. They caught one another's eye, but Malfoy only gave him a small smile before turning back to the front. Harry's heart stuttered. It was only the smallest uplift of pale lips, but suddenly Harry felt a hundred times better, a thousand times more confident. It was okay; he was going to be fine.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his robes and bent his knees, mimicking Malfoy's position, waiting for Madam Hooch's whistle.

"Three – two –"

But Neville Longbottom, nervous and jump and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Longbottom was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slide sideways off the broom and –

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Longbottom lay face down on the grass in a heap.

For a moment, Harry was sure Longbottom was dead, but then Madam Hooch, bending over him, muttered, "Broken wrist," and helping him to his feet, turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'! Come on, dear."

With her arm around him, Madam Hooch led Longbottom away, clutching his wrist as tears ran down his round cheeks.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The others bar Harry and Hermione joined in, Daphne's voice highest of them all as she glanced at Malfoy. Harry simply rolled his eyes. And just when he though Malfoy wasn't _totally_ evil.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, a dark-skinned Gryffindor girl.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy with glee. She never could resist mocking other girls. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati. Even if he is a pureblood, Longbottom's got the talent of a Squib, you'd be better off with someone with more talent."

Patil scowled, "Like I need advice from a slimy Slytherin."

Pansy tossed her black bob with a contemptuous sneer. "You should Parvati," she said, smiling indulgently, "You ended up a lowly Gryffindor, at least Padma got Ravenclaw. She's obviously the brighter one, as _she's_ not wasting her time chasing after losers. So much for being identical."

Patil looked like she wanted to hit Pansy, but her brown-haired friend Lavender Brown linked arms with her, whispering maliciously in her ear. Pansy simply turned to the other girls and said loudly, "_Gryffindors!_!" and they all giggled.

"Look!" said Malfoy suddenly, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

Harry groaned. "What are you going to do with that, Malfoy?" he asked exasperatedly, inwardly hoping Madam Hooch would hurry up so they could get on with the lesson.

Malfoy smiled nastily. "Do you want to fly, Potter?" he asked slyly.

Harry immediately perked up at the word _fly_.

"How about a little Quidditch lesson while we wait?" and without further ado, Malfoy leapt onto his broomstick and took off. He hadn't been lying, he _could_ fly well – hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!" waving the arm holding the Remembrall.

Okay, that was a challenge, no mistaking it. Blood roared in his ears, and Harry felt his vision narrow. He had to show up Malfoy, that was all there was to it.

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."

Harry ignored her, and no one else offered any word of protest as he mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground.

Up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realised he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was _wonderful_. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from a boy.

He turned the broomstick sharply until he was facing Malfoy. Another blast of delight: Malfoy was looking stunned and a little impressed. Smoothing his face into a blank stare, he nodded at Harry. "Very nice, Potter" he said, soft enough that those below wouldn't have heard. Harry raised a challenging eyebrow in return.

"Now let's see," said Malfoy, raising his voice, "Just what you're made of. Catch it if you can!" and with no warning threw the glass ball high into the air.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leant forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ear, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently on to the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

Facing the sky, Harry could see Malfoy staring down at him, his face white and eyes and mouth comically round. Then the blue sky disappeared as what felt like every single Slytherin girl flung herself on top of him. Tracey was sobbing into his chest, Daphne and Pansy were screaming over and over how amazing and _stupid_ that was (to his dismay, Pansy was now also calling him "Bambi"), Millie gushed over the catch, and Hermione, white-lipped and scowling, reminded him angrily that he had explicitly ignored Madam Hooch, which Harry took as a sign of her worry over him. She seemed intent on lecturing him thoroughly, shouting over the others to be heard.

"Relax Granger," said Malfoy, alighting gracefully, "No harm done." He was looking at Harry up and down as though to confirm his statement, and for a second Harry wondered if Malfoy had been _worried_ about him, but when the blonde raised his head, all that was on his face was jealousy and a strange hungry look that made Harry shiver despite the Autumn sun.

* * *

><p>After dinner that night, Harry was accosted by a group of intimidating older Slytherin boys outside the entrance door. The Slytherin captain Marcus Flint, a tall, muscular boy with shifty grey eyes stepped forward and almost snapped Harry's fingers in a crushing handshake.<p>

"Saw that catch of yours today, Potter" he growled, eyeing Harry curiously. "Wouldn't have believed it possible if I hadn't seen it for myself. That was some slick flying, especially for a first year."

"Ever play Quidditch before, Potter?" asked Peregrine Derrick, a red haired boy who stood beside the familiar figure of Terence Higgs.

"Er, no, never" said Harry, flummoxed.

"Who cares if he's played before" barked Adrian Pucey, the younger brother of prefect Elizabeth Pucey**, "He was _amazing_!"

"Are you going to try out for the team, Potter?" Flint said looking annoyed at the third year, who shut his mouth with a snap.

Harry was so startled he could barely spit out a reply, and stammered, "Wasn't intending on –"

"We need a Chaser," interrupted Flint, "Tryouts are on Sunday. You'll have to borrow one of the school brooms; first years aren't allowed their own."

And on that note, he left, the rest of the boys trailing after him.

Vince and Greg arrived a quarter of an hour later to find Harry was still standing outside the common room entrance, his mouth open.

"I think the password is 'Lethifold'*** Greg muttered to Harry helpfully.

* * *

><p><em>*This is from Scrubs; Carla always calls J.D. "Bambi" 'because he needed to learn how to walk'. It's such a cute nickname, and all of the others seemed too forced or condescending.<em>

_**The Pucey mentioned in earlier chapters was intended to be Adrian Pucey, but I'm just going to invent an older sibling despite my loathing of OC's, because Adrian's too young to be a prefect._

_***The reason Greg remembers this is because IT'S THE FUCKING DEVIL! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! IT'S PROOF THAT IF THERE IS A GOD IN THE HP UNIVERSE HE EVIDENTLY RAN OUT OF FUCK'S DO GIVE BECAUSE THIS THING IS MADE OF NIGHTMARES! NIGHTMARES! WHY WOULD ANYONE EVEN MAKE UP SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I DON'T EVEN-?_

_A/N Oh Harry, you are so oblivious to Draco's deep yet still unrecognised love for you._

_I apologise for the excessive amounts of canon I shoved in there and didn't acknowledge, but there was too much paraphrased and mixed in, and it's very late at night. This is a filler chap, and very boring to write, but next chapter sees the beginning of Harry's and Draco's friendship, so please hold out until then. And believe me, the pace _is_ going to fasten up really soon, after the messy groundwork has been laid down._

_As always, reviews and suggestions are welcome, if not vital, as they keep the Lethifolds away._

_And remember my duckies, Rabbit loves you._


	4. Halloween!

_A/N It was my mother's birthday yesterday, so this is just for her (thank god she'll never read this). Once again, the copious amounts of canon will not be highlighted cuz I'm a lazy shit. Thank you to those who reviewed, and those who've alerted/favourited this, it makes me so happy!_

_I totally agree NATWEST, grey is the shade all heroes should be, and Harry will definitely be grey, but I don't know what shade of grey that will be ;P In any case, those who care, please visit the poll on my profile page and let me know about Harry's alignment._

_Also, if anyone wants some lemonade, let me know._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to me, just like how Dobby is played by Basil Brush._

* * *

><p>Chapter Four - Halloween!<p>

Despite being bullied into it, Harry could not complain when it came to Quidditch. Learning the rules by the time of the tryouts was tricky enough as is, without his feeling so nervous and the pressure the Slytherin team was putting on him. He needn't have worried; outflying everyone else at tryouts Marcus Flint named him Chaser with what could be called at a stretch glee.

So perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week in top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realised that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive had ever done.

On Halloween morning Harry awoke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin and the sound of shrill screaming. He sat up, alarmed, noticing the other boys doing the same, and tumbled out of bed they all scrambled out the door to see what was going on.

Reaching the common room, they were greeted with a disgusting stench and a gaggle of sixth year boys paralysed with laughter, clutching the leather armchairs to remain upright as they pointed at the screaming Hermione, who was being attacked by what at first appeared to be a flock of strange birds, but as Harry stepped closer, he realised they were in fact paint brushes, which were viciously slathering Hermione in a foul-smelling substance.

"Stop it!" he yelled angrily at the sixth years who were now struggling for breath as Hermione tried in vain to fend off the brushes. "I said, STOP!" he thundered, drawing his wand and pointing it at the nearest boy.

That certainly got their attention, and at once they stopped laughing, now glaring at Harry.

"We were teaching this filthy mudblood her place is all" said one of them, looking wholly unconcerned at Harry brandishing his wand.

The one closest to Harry sneered, "And besides, little firstie, why in Merlin's name should any of us listen to you?"

Immediately Vince and Greg flanked him, rubbing their knuckles menacingly. They were almost as tall as the older boys, and easily wider, which made the sixth years instantly looking wary.

"What's this?" a voice drawled from behind Harry. Malfoy stepped up casually beside Vince, looking bored. "Picking on a first year? How pathetic." One of the older boys flushed.

"Pathetic! That mudblood dares to walk around here like she owns the place" spat one of them, glaring at Malfoy challengingly. "Reminding a mudblood that they're nothing but scum is just a common courtesy, they're known for being a bit slow."

Malfoy's lip curled in disdain as he eyed the other. "You're one to talk about being slow Warrington," he said coolly, "Didn't you only get two O.W.L.s? I'm surprised you're even here this year, if it was me, I'd be ashamed to show my face."

Sniggers broke around the room as Warrington's face purpled with fury and humiliation, but he seemed reluctant to attack Malfoy and fumed in silence. One of the others rolled his eyes and with a wave of his wand the brushes disappeared. "Relax Malfoy" he said, reaching out to grasp Warrington's arm. "Just reminding the mudblood that she's dirty and no one wants her here." With that, he and his friends left the common room roaring with laughter, dragging a still silent Warrington behind them.

Hermione was left standing alone in the middle of the room, covered head to toe in the thick sludge that was slowly oozing onto the floor with sickening splats.

Tracey sighed and held out her arm to Hermione but didn't move closer. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up" she said, her nose wrinkling.

At once, a gaggle of seventh year girls moved in front of the entrance to the girl's dorms, blocking the way. Daphne's older sister Thalia scowled at them. "No way am I letting that filthy mudblood in there, she'll stink up the whole place!"

"Sis!" exclaimed Daphne in outrage, but before anymore could be said Hermione howled in embarrassment and fled out the entrance door, tears streaming down her face.

Hermione didn't turn up for the morning's classes, and at lunch Millie reported that she'd locked herself in the girls' toilets and wanted to be left alone.

On their way up to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry suggested on getting Hermione, thinking she'd be hungry by then, but Pansy merely rolled her eyes and muttered "Boys" in exasperation, so he left it be, pushing aside his concern.

Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his purple turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately."

"But our dormitory is in the dungeons!" shouted Daphne, terrified, but the Slytherins were already moving off and they all had no choice but to follow, hands on wands just in case.

As he jostled his way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry froze, and then suddenly darted out behind them, blending in with the other house until slipping unnoticed into a side corridor that looked deserted, only to jump as a hand clamped around his arm.

Malfoy pulled him around, looking flustered and cross. "What in Merlin's name are you doping Potter?" he snapped angrily. "Have you been confunded? The dorms are in the other direction!"

"Gee thanks Malfoy, I had no idea" said Harry sarcastically, shaking his arm free and turning back down the empty corridor.

This time Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry's robes and pulled hard. "Stupid git! There's a troll in the school, or have you forgotten?"

Wrenching his robes away, Harry spun, startling Malfoy with the fury in his face. "In case you've forgotten," he snarled coldly, "Hermione's locked in the toilets. She doesn't know about the troll."

He turned and marched away, but to his surprise, Malfoy followed him. "And why then," he pointed out in exasperation as Harry peered around a corner, "did you not simply inform a prefect or teacher of this?"

Harry step faltered slightly before he continued walking determinedly. "The prefects wouldn't help her, you saw what happened this morning, and the teachers are busy dealing with the troll" he replied, wishing his voice didn't sound so defensive.

Malfoy snorted, grumbling under his breath but followed after Harry nonetheless. It was as they were creeping along the next corridor that Malfoy suddenly held up a hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean. "Smells like we've found Granger" Malfoy said maliciously, but then Harry clamped a hand over the blonde mouth, pressing a finger to his lips.

They listened wide eyed as the silence of the corridor was broken by something. And then they heard it – a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. At the end of the passage something huge was moving towards them.

Malfoy clutched Harry's arm, his pointed face white with terror, and together they backed noiselessly into the shadows, feeling their way to the end of the hallway, neither one able to take his eyes off of the troll as it shambled down the corridor. Suddenly pain arched up Harry's elbow as Malfoy stumbled, knocking him into the wall, and he was unable to hold back a pained gasp.

Both of them froze as the troll stopped next to a doorway halfway down the hallway, but then it turned and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, and then slouched slowly into the room. Malfoy instantly sagged with relief, turning to go, but Harry stood, frowning.

"The keys in the lock," Harry muttered as Malfoy tugged his arm, "We could lock it in."

"Or we could run like crazy the other way," whispered Malfoy, his voice slightly higher than usual. "The other way meaning in the opposite direction of the freaking mountain troll. It's the less suicidal option I know, but hey, I'm a survival enthusiast."

Half dragging Harry away, they had just reached the end of the corridor when they heard something that made their hearts stop – a high, petrified, and all too familiar scream.

"The girls toilets!" said Malfoy, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, wheeling around and sprinting back down the hallway and bursting through the doorway.

Hermione was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

Harry desperately seized a tap and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around; blinking stupidly to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

Harry backed away, eyes on the troll as he Malfoy darted inside. He glanced at Harry, then at Hermione, and seemed to decide to face the lesser of two evils. "Come on, run!" he yelled at Hermione, trying to drag her towards the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting had made the troll falter and it turned back to them; then it roared and went for the two instead.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but it certainly heard him when Harry drew a deep breath and then bellowed as loudly as he could directly into its pointed ear.

Howling in pain and confusion, the troll twisted and flailed, waving its club madly, with Harry clinging on for dear life.

"Do something!" he yelled at Malfoy, who was watching the scene open mouthed. Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright.

Malfoy drew his wand, unsure what he should do, but then Harry lost his grip and flew off, colliding hard with the floor and yelling in pain. The troll immediately turned on him, raising its club high to strike the source of its agony.

Malfoy acted, shouting the first spell that came to his head: "DURO!*" he screamed, waving his wand. A jet of silver-grey light bust from his wand and hit the troll square in the face.

For a long moment, it looked as though it hadn't worked.

But then with loud cracks, the grey spread from where the spell hit, engulfing the troll as it looked down, confused, as it slowly turned into stone. With a deafening bang, the spell was complete, leaving a 12 foot stone troll standing in the middle of the bathroom, its club still raised.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath, but he didn't take his eyes off of Malfoy, who still had his wand raised, looking baffled at what he'd done.

It was Hermione was at last broke the silence. "Is it – dead?"

Her voice broke Malfoy from his daze. "I don't know," he admitted, lowering his wand. "My father taught me that spell; he always thought I had a knack for Transfiguration**."

"Awesome!" Harry breathed, and Malfoy flushed.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

"What – what on earth? What were all of you thinking?" said Professor McGonagall, her lips white, cold fury in her voice as she looked from Harry to Malfoy. "Why aren't you both in your dormitory? You're lucky you weren't killed."

Professor Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor.

Malfoy shuffled his feet and muttered under his breath, "Had to come".

McGonagall glanced sharply at him. "And pray tell why that is?"

A small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last. "I went looking for the troll, you see. I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – I've read all about them, and, well, if they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Harry confused the troll, then Malfoy turned it into stone. They didn't have time to come fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived." She finished by hanging her head in shame.

Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had and telling a downright lie to a teacher to get them out of trouble. Apparently, McGonagall was rendered incapable of speech as well, and she turned helplessly to Snape, who was eyeing them all with a blank face.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, "Five points will have to be taken from Slytherin because of this. Return to your common room immediately." Hermione nodded, scurrying away with her head still bowed.

"As for the two of you," he continued, and Harry held his breath, awaiting the worst. There was an agonising pause. "As long as you keep this incident quiet, I see no reason to punish you both. Return to the common room."

They didn't need a clearer dismissal, both of them barely agreeing before they fled the room. Not a word was said between them, but both Harry and Malfoy understood that no punishment was as good as 50 points from Snape.

* * *

><p>Hermione was standing by the Slytherin entrance, waiting for them. Not quite meeting their eyes, she quietly mumbled, "Thanks."<p>

There was a very embarrassed pause.

Malfoy sighed. "Thanks back Granger."

"Hermione" she corrected, beaming at him, "After that, I think we've all moved past calling one another by surname."

"We're not friends now, Granger" said Malfoy, looking alarmed.

"Uh huh," hummed Hermione, paying no attention. "So what will our story be? The truth or what we told the professors?"

"Snape said we're not to tell" Harry supplied, but Malfoy was nodding his head.

"No, we'll have to tell the others, this kind of thing is way too good to pass up" smirked Malfoy. "We should say _you _lured the troll into a trap Granger, that'll get everyone in a kafuffle."

"Kafuffle?" said Harry, grinning.

"Shut up Potter, someone has to be the brains here" snapped Malfoy.

Harry's grinned only widened. "That'll be Hermione then, lord knows you don't have any."

"_I'm_ the one who defeated the troll!"

"Only after _I_ took it on, you were just standing there, you lump!"

"And a fat lot of good that did you! You were going to be crushed if it wasn't for me! I'm _obviously_ the hero here, saving that stupid scarred head of yours."

"Hero! You? Who was it quivering like a little mouse about the troll? 'Oh no, let's run away, I'm a great big pounce, trolls are so _scary_.' Ha!"

"It's nice how you care about one another so much" said Hermione thoughtfully, breaking into their bickering.

"I DO _NOT_!" Harry and Malfoy both shouted as one, but Hermione only smiled.

Wrapping an arm around both their necks, she drew the boys close to her sides. "Let's go face the music," she said happily, ignoring their sputtering. "Come on boys!"

As they stepped into the common room to be greeted by questions and shouts and Malfoy eagerly launched into his concocted story, dramatically recreating each moment, Harry realised Hermione was right.

There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and taking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. He so was going to have to call Malfoy 'Draco' from now on. Next he'll be making up cutesy nicknames for him too, and they'll turn into hippies, only answer to the names 'Bambi' and 'Flower', and thell everyone they are the boys who defeated the mountain troll and became twitterpated***.

"I think I've sustained brain damage" decided Harry.

* * *

><p><em>*Hermione uses this spell in the Battle of Hogwarts on Death Eaters, so it is canon.<em>

_**I'm not trying to make Malfoy seem like this amazing genius, but remember that canonically he is really skilled at Transfiguration, after all, he conjured that Snake in second year after minimal instruction from Snape._

_***I seriously don't know whats wrong with me. Disney have stolen my soul, those damn faux-lethifolds!_

_A/N That's all for now, just the tiniest peep of friendship. Don't worry; there will be fluffiness to come. For all the good boys and girls who review, Rabbit loves you. For those who don't, you shall get a lump of coal in your stocking! Don't forget my duckies, Rabbit loves you!_

_Here's this nice little preview:_

'_Picking up the letter from the last package, Harry had no trouble recognising the elegant scrawl. Tearing it open, he felt foolishly pleased that Draco had sent him something, and immeasurably guilty that he was throwing their fragile bond back in Draco's face by befriending Ron behind his back.'_


	5. Surprise!

_A/N This is the longest chapter yet so, yay, I win! Please visit my profile page for a poll on Harry in this story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited and alerted, it gives me warm fuzzies.  
><em>

_Disclaimer: Is Harry Potter a gay porno? No? So obviously, no, I don't own it._

* * *

><p>Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The classrooms and hallways became bitterly cold, and everyone couldn't wait for the holidays to start.<p>

For Harry, this Christmas was looking like it would be his best ever: there had been a sign-up sheet of the noticeboard in the common room for all those wishing to stay for the holidays and Harry immediately added his name, having no desire to return to Privet Drive.

However, the most curious thing was Draco's reaction upon learning Harry would be staying at Hogwarts.

Despite their new found friendship, Harry and Draco still enjoyed getting under one another's skin, and the rest of the house seemed to approve of their rivalry, claiming it would help push the two boys forward in their constant bids to get one over the other. The other Slytherins had come to totally ignore them whenever the two began bickering, and Hermione, who was now a firm friend of the two, watched them with an indulgent smile.

As the holidays drew closer, Draco began to boast about his parents' annual Christmas party to the others, to which Harry would always loudly express his condolences for whoever would have to cope with Draco's company. This would then turn into an argument over Harry's flying abilities, with Draco miming Harry falling off his broom in his first match. Whenever Draco commended Professor Snape for his timely save of Harry after he was bucked from his broom, Harry would gleefully accuse the blonde of having a thing for Snape and then proceed to list all the reasons Draco was really gay for Filch.

These little spats had started out harmless enough, building from a minor insult to an all out fight that would only end when one of them would storm off, only to be forgiven by the day's end.

But in the week before holidays, Draco had turned downright nasty.

In their final potions class, Draco had gotten particularly unpleasant about Harry's lack of a proper family, to which Harry responded by resolutely ignoring him, leaving Draco to throw a hissy fit at the lack of attention and instead began to harass the Gryffindors, another of his new favourite pastimes.

Harry glanced up from his work to find Hermione smirking. "What's so funny?" Harry muttered as Draco callously laughed when Seamus Finnegan's potion exploded in his face.

Hermione's grin turned lofty, in the I-know-something-you-obviously-don't way that Harry loathed. "You do know why Draco's acting like this, don't you?" she asked in a way that she clearly knew he didn't.

"Because he's a prat?" Harry suggested, measuring out powdered spine of lionfish.

This only served to make Hermione look even smugger. "It's because," she said pompously, adding the stewed horned slugs to her cauldron, "You're staying here for the holidays by yourself. Draco's worried about you."

Harry snorted, "Yeah, I can totally feel all the love he's sending my way," he said sarcastically.

Hermione shrugged, looking exasperated. "You know how he is, he's way too proud to actually show he cares."

"So, what, Draco's been all prickly because inwardly he's been sulking because of _me_?"

"_Duh_!" said Hermione, rolling her eyes. ""He's feeling bad because he doesn't want you to be alone for Christmas, and he's upset and defensive _because_ he's feeling bad about it. It's called feeling unjustified guilt."

Harry's mouth fell open. "Why? What? Why?"

"It's called '_unjustified_ guilt' for a reason Harry, but don't worry about him, he's just all insecure because the Weasley's are staying for Christmas too."

"Hmm," Harry glanced at Draco who was bullying Neville. He _had_ been very anti-Gryffindor that day and pestering Harry nonstop since breakfast. "Trust Draco to get all worked up over nothing" he muttered.

Hermione simply patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Just don't befriend any of the Weasley's or you'll probably give Draco an aneurysm."

* * *

><p>Once the holidays started, it didn't take very long for Harry to become depressed. Despite being generally ignored by the Dursley's, Harry had never actually been all alone before, and as there were no other Slytherins who had decided to stay behind, he had the entire dungeon to himself. What was at first a novelty; jumping from bed to bed, roasting marshmallows and such on the fire, and playing exploding snap in the common room without anyone yelling at him, soon lost its appeal.<p>

By dinner of the first night of the holidays, Harry was wondering if it was too soon to write to the others. Sitting by himself at the Slytherin table was making him feel pathetic.

A loud shout from the Gryffindor table drew his attention. The eldest Weasley was yelling at the twins, who were both sniggering. Ron sat beside them but didn't seem interested in the conversation, eating in silence.

Almost as if he felt Harry's gaze, Ron glanced up and caught his eye. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, he gave a sheepish smile. Ron looked startled, glancing right to left as though Harry had directed the smile at someone else, before he returned the gesture uncertainly.

Harry ducked his head, a little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's reminding him not to eve befriend a Gryffindor.

But as he lay alone in bed that night, he thought of his friends, of Hermione and Draco, who were off spending time with their families. He thought about how Hogwarts was feeling like a home – a real home – now. And all of the new opportunities to make friends. He thought of his parents. Of the Dursley's, Mrs Figg, and his tiny old closet. And Ron, who had been so friendly on the train. And how, just maybe, there was still hope after all.

By the next morning he'd made up his mind, and deliberately arrived to breakfast slightly later than usual (Draco had insisted that one should always breakfast early, lest one missed something important). He was relieved to see that the Weasley's had all arrived and were already eating.

Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself. 'No one will know', he chanted silently. 'No one will know. No one will know'.

He kept up the silent mantra as he approached the Gryffindor table. They hadn't noticed him yet.

Heart in his throat, Harry stopped behind Ron, not daring to look at the older boys, who'd glanced up curiously.

"Hey Ron" Harry said, wincing at his breathless tone.

Ron had been busy with his porridge and promptly choked at Harry's greeting. He sputtered and Harry, red-faced, thumped him on the back. Eyes watering, Ron turned in his seat to stare at Harry, bemused at the Slytherin's presence.

"Hey Harry" he rasped, then immediately blushed.

"Listen, Ron", said Harry in a rush, painfully aware of the other Weasley's staring, "I'm really sorry I was so rude to you before, I just didn't want my whole house to turn on me, what with the house rivalries, but I still think you're really cool, and was wondering if it was possible if we could maybe be friends".

Finishing, Harry looked determinedly at the ketchup bottle instead of at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open.

"Well then, Ron?" demanded one of the twins when the silence was beginning to get uncomfortable. "Going to be a man and accept that apology or not?"

Ron immediately flushed crimson, his face clashing spectacularly with his hair. He looked down into his lap, gripping his spoon so tightly it bent.

Harry was just preparing to leave with the rest of his dignity when the redhead looked up again, and Harry was shocked to see his face split into a wide grin.

"You really think I'm cool?" he asked Harry, who straight away grinned back.

"Very cool."

"That's settled then!" boomed one of the twins, clapping his hands in delight.

"Yes!" cried the other, moving aside to give Harry room. "Take a seat, Harry my man, next to your new friend! Let us reintroduce ourselves. I'm George. That's Fred," he pointed to his twin, "and that's Percy the Prefect, but you don't need to remember his name."

Percy scowled.

"And so welcome, Harry Potter of Slytherin, to the Gryffindor table" George finished with a flourish, bowing in his seat.

"Although," mused Fred, "Befriending a Gryffindor isn't very Slytherin of you Harry. Can't for the life of me understand why you went there. George and I were sure you'd join the red and gold."

"Ah but you forget," said George happily, "Befriending a Gryffindor in _secret_ is totally Slytherin of him, the cunning little snake!"

"It's not like that!" Harry exclaimed, "I just want to be friends with Ron, I don't intend to- to… _exploit_ him or anything!"

The twins laughed, and George thumped Harry on the back. "Don't worry Harry; we're just messing with you. We don't care if you want to have Slytherin-Gryffindor relations."

"That sounds so wrong" muttered Ron.

Fred shrugged. "Can't guarantee Snape will be okay with it though, he seems like the sort that would love to tell on Harry to the Slytherins."

As one, they all turned to look up at the staff table where Snape was sitting talking to Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher.

Harry hadn't considered that. At once all of his hopes came plummeting down; there was no way Snape wouldn't revel in the opportunity to humiliate Harry. Even though he'd saved Harry's life at the Quidditch match, Snape had not stopped treating Harry like a talking slug, his lips curling whenever their eyes met. Harry had since learnt that the best policy for getting through their classes together was to try and talk as little as possible, although Snape was quick to find any fault in Harry's potion making. It was at those times he was eternally grateful he had Hermione, who had taken to working beside Harry to ensure he did nothing to draw the Potion Master's ire

Harry was still staring glumly at the staff table when a flash of silver caught his eye. Professor Dumbledore was watching him over a pair of half-moon spectacles. Harry immediately panicked. Was it not allowed for different houses to sit at one another's table?

He stood to leave, but the headmaster smiled and waved him back into his seat. Percy the Prefect had caught the interaction and smiled at Harry.

"Looks like Professor Dumbledore's on your side, Harry" he said. "He's a big advocate of inter-house unity, so I don't think you'll have to worry about Snape."

Harry was far from relieved. "Snape's a Slytherin," he reminded them, "And Slytherins are nothing if not subtle."

* * *

><p>But as the holidays wore on, Harry found he couldn't bring himself to worry about Snape.<p>

Because they weren't allowed to go into one another's common rooms, Harry and the Weasley's spent their time in the Great Hall beside the enormous fireplace. The teachers soon noticed this, and in between meals moved the house tables to the side of the Hall and conjured large, squashy armchairs and coffee tables. Soon enough, the other students picked up on this and began to hang out in there instead of their common rooms as well.

Ron had started teaching Harry wizard chess, which while played like muggle chess was rather different, the pieces were alive and had to be directed verbally, and proved to be very difficult when they didn't trust their player. Ron's set had once belonged to his grandfather, and as such they got on fine, but Harry was having extreme difficulty with his pieces, which liked to yell advice to him and question his moves. It didn't help at all that Ron was an excellent chess player, though Harry felt no resentment over his new friend's skill.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all.

When he awoke the next morning, he was unsurprised to find no presents at the end of his bed (Fred and George had explained how the gifts were delivered in the most annoyingly vaguest of fashions, in a way that reminded Harry strongly of Hermione whenever she knew something others didn't). But as he groped for his glasses on his bedside table, his hand found a piece of parchment.

Cramming his glasses on his nose eagerly, he peered at the note, only to find it wasn't a Christmas card after all. Small and rectangular written with gold ink, it read _"Christmas presents will be available in the Great Hall."_

Pulling on his dressing-gown, he hurried from the dorm up to the Great Hall, passing a small group of puzzled-looking Hufflepuffs in the Entrance Hall. Like him, many of the other students seemed to have forgone getting dressed and had wandered up in still in their pyjamas.

The house table had been reduced to two and had been moved to the side to make room. Along the walls there were twelve Christmas trees decorating the Great Hall, but this morning the four closest to the fireplace had been moved forward so that mounds of presents could be placed underneath each of them. Each one had been specially decorated in its house colours: luminous red holly berries and real hooting golden owls for Gryffindor, black candles and living yellow fairies for Hufflepuff, coloured blue and bronze bubbles and icicles for Ravenclaw, and silver bells with enchanted silver snakes circling the branches for Slytherin.

"Happy Christmas," said a voice behind Harry, Ron moving beside Harry, yawning hugely.

"You too," Harry said happily as the other Weasley's arrived.

"Bit of a break from tradition this year" commented Fred, heading towards the Gryffindor tree.

"Haven't they ever done this before?" asked Harry, following them.

"Well," answered George, sifting through the presents, "Normally the presents appear at the end of your bed in the morning, and as far as I know, it's always been like that. Never had a communal thing before now."

Weird," agreed Ron, peering over his brother's shoulder, "But I think it's nicer this way. More…homey."

"Aww, ickle Ronniekins is too pwecious!" George cooed in a mock baby voice, making Harry laugh.

"Well, _I_ happen to think it's a good change!" said Percy pompously, bending down to grab a bunch of gifts and striding away.

"Oh no you don't!" cried Fred, lunging for him.

"That's right!" said George, tugging Percy back. "No sitting with the prefects today, Christmas is a time for family!"

Ron scooped up his gifts and turned to Harry. "Want to open ours together?"

"What about-?" he asked, glancing at the twins who had Percy trapped between them.

Ron laughed, "Don't worry about them; they're just doing that to pick on Percy. We can all sit at the same table anyway, there's only two. Grab your presents and we can sit down."

"I don't have any" replied Harry cheerily, moving towards the closest table.

Ron nudged him and pointed. "Well there are presents under the Slytherin tree, and I can't think of who else they'd be for."

Harry spun around. Sure enough, under the tree decked out in silver, there was a small pile of packages.

"Will you look at this?" said Harry, walking over to them. "I've got some presents!"

Ron chuckled and waited as Harry gathered them before moving off to find a place at one of the tables. Ron's mother had sent him a hand knitted jumper and a box of fudge (Ron had apparently informed her that Harry hadn't been expecting gifts), a hand-whittled flute from Hagrid (it sounded a bit like an owl), a sixpence taped to a letter from the Dursley's (Ron had been fascinated by the muggle money and Harry had cheerfully giving it to him), and a box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

This only left two parcels. One was lumpy and very light, the other package long and thin. Both had notes attached.

Figuring bigger was better, he left the long one for last and turned to the other package. The letter was written in narrow, loopy writing Harry had never seen before.

"_Your father left this in my possession before he died.  
>It is time it was returned to you.<br>Use it well.  
>A Very Merry Christmas to you."<em>

There was no signature. Unwrapping the paper slowly, he saw something silvery grey. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. Harry felt very strange. What was it? Had it really belonged to his father?

Folding the paper back up, Harry set it aside. He wasn't going to unwrap it in front of everyone else; something like that felt very private.

Intent on ridding himself of his strange mood, Harry picked up the letter from the last package. He had no trouble recognising the elegant scrawl. Tearing it open, he felt foolishly pleased that Draco had sent him something, and immeasurably guilty that he was throwing their fragile bond back in Draco's face by befriending Ron behind his back.

Inside the letter was a newspaper clipping. Harry decided to read the letter first.

"_Harry,  
>I know you weren't expecting any presents this Christmas, but maybe you got some from Hermione or Daphne, but I thought I'd get you something anyway, because it's criminal not to get anything on Christmas. Read the enclosed newspaper article now –"<em>

Harry grinned. Even on paper he was being bossed around by Draco. Nevertheless, he was touched that Draco was so concerned (he was reading between the lines here) and forgave the blonde's previous taunts immediately. As usual, Hermione proved to be spot on.

The cutting was an ad from a wizard's paper (he could tell because the people in the picture were moving) advertising a broomstick: the Nimbus Two Thousand. Harry recalled hearing about it on his trip to Diagon Alley, but beyond that, he was stumped when it came to different brooms. Curious, he returned to the letter.

"– _if you've done what I told you, you should know what I'm talking about. Clearly those atrocious school brooms are faulty and dangerous, and when I told my father – he's a governor of Hogwarts, by the way – about what happened at you first match, he completely agreed that it was unsafe for a student to play Quidditch on one, so he spoke to the headmaster, and you now have special permission to have this at school.  
>Merry Christmas,<br>Draco  
>P.S. Open it now, you dolt!"<em>

The insult barely registered; Harry was already excitedly ripping the paper off, hardly daring to hope it was really –

– a broomstick rolled onto the table.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" exclaimed Ron enviously, dropping his liquorice wand, "I've never even _touched_ one."

"Wow" Harry breathed. He may know nothing about the different brooms, but he still thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and _Nimbus Two Thousand_ written in gold near the top.

"Hang on," Percy suddenly exclaimed, striding over. "First years aren't allowed brooms at school Harry" he said pompously, making to take it from him.

Harry shot up, clutching the broom to his chest. Like hell he was going to let anyone take it from him; it was his very own _broom,_ and a present from Draco no less.

"Hand it over Harry" warned Percy, holding out his hand, "You know the rules."

"No way, it's mine!" shouted Harry, uncaring at how possessive his voice sounded. Ron seemed to agree with the sentiment though, if the way he was glaring at Percy was any indication.

"What's this now?" a tiny voice interrupted. They all turned to see Professor Flitwick glancing anxiously between them, arms full of pumpkin pasties.

"Potter's been sent a broom, sir" said Percy, puffing out his chest. "I was just about to confiscate it."

"No, no, that's quite alright Mr Weasley," said Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Dumbledore's told me all about the special circumstances. After that fiasco at the last match, it's quite understandable. But it looks like you've got yourself a good broom there Mr Potter."

"Thank you sir," Harry replied, trying not to laugh at Percy's gobsmacked expression.

"Well, I'll see you boys at the feast then," Flitwick squeaked, hurrying away.

"See you Professor" Harry and Ron chorused back, before Ron returned to the broom.

"This is so awesome Harry" he moaned, gazing at the broom with longing, "Bet _I'll_ never get a broom for Christmas. Whoever sent you this is the best!"

Somehow, Harry knew better than to tell Ron it was Draco Malfoy. As Fred and George joined in admiring Harry's new broom, Harry's thoughts returned to Draco. This was easily the most expensive thing he'd ever owned, and Draco, Draco had _given_ it to him.

He suddenly felt very stupid, when all he'd given Draco was a deluxe box of Every Flavour Beans. Harry was definitely going to have to make it up to Draco somehow.

* * *

><p><em>AN Yes, yes he will *perverted smirk*  
>Anywho, that's it for that chapter, expect things to really speed up now. This is a very belated b-day gift to my darling Megamoose; huzzah, another year older!<br>Remember, Rabbit loves you, and the review button is your friend._

_Preview:_

' _"Harry", said Hermione, her voice suddenly serious. "Promise me you won't tell anyone about this. Especially not Draco, or he might do something very stupid and very dangerous."_

_For once, Harry didn't argue.'_


	6. Secret!

_A/N I keep saying the pace will speed up, but clearly I'm suffering from some kind of lovely delusion that I have any concept of pacing at all, which I clearly don't._

_Anyway, there is some fluffiness in this chapter, and for those who don't like that, what's wrong with you? Come on, I've been hinting that this is coming for ages. Also, I would like to warn that plot and canon is beginning to worm its way in here this chapter, so beware of plenty of canonical references._

_Also, HAPPY EASTER TO ALL MY DUCKIES, especially to all those who reviewed (particularly Jooji and Megamoose, I miss you), the excess of chocolate enabled this chapter to be longer than usual._

_Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. That statement is the cake. And as we all know, the cake is a lie._

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><p>The holidays were over all too soon. Everyone arrived back the day before classes restarted, and Harry and Ron were back to pretending each other didn't exist.<p>

Harry had been a nervous wreck as the Slytherins began trickling into the common room, waiting for the pointed fingers, the accusations. By the time the other first years arrived he was almost crawling up the walls in his paranoia. When asked how his holidays were, Harry almost snapped. There was a moment of weakness where Harry almost began screaming the truth to the room, professing his guilt and begging forgiveness. The only outward sign of this was a slight twitch as he casually responded with a bland "Quite boring", which was accepted without suspicion. Whether or not Snape would call him on his lie remained to be seen.

But more than anything, Harry was the most anxious about seeing Draco again. He'd hardly slept the night before, insides squirming with guilt as he thought of his fun-filled Christmas spent with the Weasley's, and the promise he made to Hermione before the holidays. If Draco discovered Harry's betrayal, it was certain the blonde would never forgive him, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of being unable to speak with the other boy ever again.

Every time the entrance door opened Harry jolted upright, eyes searching for white-blonde hair and grey eyes, only to slump disappointed back into the armchair. When Hermione arrived, she'd smirked knowingly at his reactions, and a whispered word to Pansy had all of the other girls giggling at him as well. Face hot, he tried to ignore them, chatting to Blaise about his Christmas in Italy, laughing about the dark-skinned boy's cousin who had less than pleasant encounter with a vampire.

It was almost dinnertime and the common room had emptied, with still no sign of Draco. Unable to wait any longer, the first years stood to leave for dinner, only for the entrance wall to slide open to reveal Draco Malfoy in dark green robes and looking cross.

"Draco!" Pansy cried, flinging her arms around his neck. "We were beginning to worry you weren't coming back."

Scowling, Draco pushed her off of him. ""I'm just a little late, Pansy" he snapped, striding past them.

"We were just heading up to dinner now, shall we wait-?" Pansy called after him, but Draco cut her off.

"No need," he snarled, not looking back, "I've got to change." With that he disappeared into the boys dorms.

Everyone shared a glance. It was very unlike Draco to be so cold to his friends, which meant something – or someone – must have happened to seriously upset him, but they all knew better to confront him now. Pansy, masking her hurt, ushered them all out the door. At the entrance, she paused, glancing back at Harry who hadn't moved from the common room.

"I've got to go get something," Harry explained at her expectant look.

For a moment, Pansy looked as though she wanted to say something, but then she nodded and left without a word.

As soon as the wall slid closed, Harry's unconcerned mask dropped and he began to hyperventilate. He had to speak to Draco, but the blonde was angry about something, and Harry's imagination was supplying him with horrible images; Snape telling Draco about what had occurred over Christmas, Harry becoming a social outcast, friendless and alone. Just like before.

Screw that! Harry wasn't ever going back to how it was at the Dursley's, not if he could help it. He had a spine, though if Draco had found out the truth he might not have one for much longer (thank Merlin Vince and Greg had already gone to dinner or Harry was certain he'd be losing body parts). But still, he wasn't going to cower in fear, wondering when Draco would unleash his wrath; it was time to man up.

Taking a deep breath, Harry strode down the hall to the last door, throwing it open. Draco straightened, his shirt half unbuttoned. Everything Harry had planned on saying flew out of his head at the unguarded surprise on the other boy's face. At the sight of Harry in the doorway, his surprise melted into a glower.

"What do you want, Potter?" he spat, resuming buttoning the shirt. "Can't you see I'm bus-"

He gasped as Harry flung his arms around Draco's neck, just as Pansy had.

"Thank-you-so-much-for-the-broom-it-was-the-best-gift-ever-i-love-it-so-much-thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Harry babbled before the taller boy could push him off.

Draco's thin body was stiff in his arms, but Harry didn't let go, and eventually the blonde relaxed, slumping into the embrace. A pale hand reached up to rest lightly on his spine.

Unbidden, Harry shivered.

He'd never hugged someone before, or been hugged in before. Not really. The brief squeeze friends gave one another was nothing like a _proper_ embrace, and for the first time, Harry let himself sink into the sensation. Draco's body was warm, his breath tickling the fine hairs behind Harry's ear. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under Harry's fingers, and he clutched it like he was drowning, and Draco was his lifeline. And he was drowning, the clean scent of Draco rolling over him. It was the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced and for a moment, he felt overwhelmed with emotion. If his parents had survived, would he have been hugged like this? Maybe he would have had siblings, a brother who would wrap an arm around his back, just like this, warm and comforting. Caring.

Tears pricked his eyes and he hurriedly buried his face into the soft curve of Draco's neck. "Missed you" he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back the treacherous tears, but his voice still trembled.

Draco's arm tightened around his middle, a thundering heartbeat answering Harry's. Draco let out hard breath, ruffling the unruly tresses of Harry's hair.

"Me too," Draco whispered.

Harry had thought so many times how glad he was to have come to Hogwarts, but it was only then, in Draco's embrace, did he truly appreciate the unexpected blessing of discovering the world of magic.

Harry was perfectly happy to remain there, but his stomach chose that moment to interrupt with an audible grumble – curses, he'd barely eaten all day, so overcome with nerves. Reluctantly, Harry withdrew his arms and stepped away. He was pleased to see that Draco's face had turned a rosy pink as the blonde resumed dressing. He didn't really want to ruin the mood, but considering it was already slightly uncomfortable now, Harry decided to go out on a limb.

"Hey, Draco? Why were you so upset before?"

Back turned, Draco froze, his shoulders rising slightly as he tensed. Apparently the limb was a little too thin to be on. But Harry was the reckless type – the type to test a branch's strength by bouncing on it.

"You were really mean to Pansy before, just because you're angry doesn't mean you can be rude to people, Draco."

Harry could practically see the steam coming out of Draco's ears. He had no idea what was wrong with him, but probably Harry was secretly some kind of sado-masochistic nutcase who got off on poking sleeping dragons in the eye* then trying to out run the flames. Time to throw down the stick and start running.

"I mean, you would tell me what's wrong, wouldn't you Drake? We are _best friends_ after all, and I'm just, I don't know, worried about you, I guess."

Okay, probably laying it on a bit thick, but if it works it works. His back still turned, Draco seemed to be having some deep inner battle. Harry let him struggle in silence, letting the bait dangle. Draco was too easy sometimes; he wouldn't resist taking that admission for all its worth and the price was small, just one little confession and Harry would be his best friend forever more.

"My father was displeased to learn I had befriended a mudblood" Draco finally said to the wall.

Bam! Too easy. "You are still going to be friends with Hermione though, aren't you?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his grin; Draco was still not looking at him.

"My father doesn't think Hogwarts should be open to muggle-borns**, that they're just as bad as muggles," Draco said stiffly, "And he _says_ I shouldn't associate with people like that***."

"But..." Harry urged as Draco pulled on his jumper.

"Well, she _is_ a Slytherin," Draco finished, frowning as he slipped on his robes. "And, well... she did, I mean, she _is_ very smart."

Harry was already well aware that prejudice was alive and strong in the wizarding world, and that Draco was willing to make even that small concession pleased him too no end. Hermione was an excellent witch, and muggle-born or no, that alone should garner some respect.

Draco turned only to catch Harry grinning so hard his face was hurting. "Stop smiling, you twat" he snapped as he strode past, but said twat's smile only grew.

"Whatever you say, bestie" Harry chirped behind him.

Draco fumbled opening the doorknob, his face pink once more.

* * *

><p>Harry's first Quidditch match on his new broom was against Hufflepuff. He was still revelling in how easy it moved to his slightest touch, and together with Flint and Pucey, they managed to win despite Hufflepuff getting the Snitch****. Harry had managed to score fifteen goals alone, something that had caused something of a frenzy in the Slytherins watching.<p>

There had been a collective outcry from the other students – particularly from the Gryffindors – complaining that Slytherin had an unfair advantage because Snape was, for some reason, refereeing. However, the Slytherin team's skill could not be denied, and Snape had not particularly favoured his house, possibly owing to being under the scrutiny of the headmaster, who had come to observe the game.

Harry, buoyed by the praise on his flying by his teammates, bounced all the way to the change rooms, only to pause as a familiar shrill voice reached his ears.

Standing in the shade of the Quidditch stands, Hermione was in all-out lecture mode, her voice so high Harry was sure it would make dogs howl. The victim of her furious tirade was none other than Draco, slouching against the wooden beams in obvious boredom.

"– should have just ignored him Draco, honestly. Where's you self-control as a Slytherin?" Hermione was half-shouting, hands on hips.

"What's up?" Harry asked as he joined them.

Draco turned to him and Harry immediately doubled over laughing. Draco was sporting a brilliant black eye, making him resemble a very irritated panda.

"Don't you laugh too," Draco whined, "None of you seem to realise this is a battle scar!"

"Battle with what? A kitten?" Harry sneered through his laughter.

Draco drew himself up, looking impossibly smug. "Not a kitten, a Weasel."

Harry's chuckles immediately turned to choking. 'Weasel' could only mean one thing: _Ron_.

"Getting into a fistfight with Ron Weasley is nothing to be proud about Draco!" snapped Hermione with a sharp glare. "You may not have started it, but you were _looking_ for trouble by sitting behind them."

Draco looked affronted. "I was just indulging in some good naturedly ribbing is all. Honestly Hermione, you make Gryffindor-baiting sound like a crime."

Hermione pursed her lips, but Harry, mouth still twitching with suppressed amusement, interjected. "Looks like Ron took offence," he said, smirking as Draco touched his eye self-consciously. "How come Vince and Greg didn't help you?"

This time it was Draco who smirked. "They were busy dealing with Longbottom."

Harry choked. "_Neville_ Longbottom? That boy who always cries in Potions? Since when did he grow a spine?" Harry wondered aloud, then suddenly scowled at Draco. "This is _so _because of that Leg-Locker Curse you put on him the other day."

Draco shrugged. "Well, Longbottom's learnt not to mess with Slytherins, he's in the Hospital Wing. Out cold," he explained at Harry's worried gasp, "Nothing to worry about. Ah, but you should of seen it Harry, I gave the Weasel a nosebleed, it may even be broken!"

Harry forced out a laugh before he mumbled about changing and hurried away, leaving Hermione to continued berating Draco.

His earlier elation had dampened slightly with the reminder of Ron and Draco's mutual loathing. If it ever came down to choosing a side, Harry would undoubtedly pick Draco over Ron, but still. He really enjoyed spending time with the Gryffindor, but in all honesty, Harry had no idea how he was supposed to maintain that friendship when Ron and Draco were always at each other's throats.

* * *

><p>(<em>copious<em> _canon excerpt_)

Harry left the changing room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed, having shaken off his earlier worries. He couldn't remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now – no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head.

Harry reached the shed. He leant against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape...

And speaking of Snape...

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the Forest while everyone else was at dinner – what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the Forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I –"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step towards him.

"I-I don-t know what you –"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "– your little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't –"

"Very well," Sanpe cut it. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

(_copious_ _canon excerpt end_)

* * *

><p>Later in the common room, while everyone was still belebrating their victory, Harry found Hermione sitting in a corner, watching Draco boast about his fight with tight-lipped disapproval.<p>

Perching on the side of her armchair, Harry leant over, lowering his voice. "Hermione, have you ever heard about something called the Philosopher's Stone?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I have," she said stiffly, though Harry grinned; he could tell she loved showing off her extensive knowledge. "The Philosopher's Stone is a legendary substance that can transform any metal into pure gold and produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. The only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicholas Flamel, who is now six hundred and sixty-six*****".

As usual, Hermione spoke like a living text book, but Harry was more concerned about what he'd just learned.

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying" muttered Harry, his eyes unfocused. "But then I don't understand why Snape asked Quirrell about it."

Hermione looked puzzled. "What are you talking about Harry?"

He softly repeated what he'd seen and heard in the Forbidden Forest, his voice inaudible over the raucous laughter of the others as they speculated on how badly Gryffindor were going to lose the House Cup.

Hermione tapped her chin, frowning. "But why would –? Oh. Oh, Harry! What if – what if it's _here_?" she gasped, clutching his sleeve in excitement.

"What's here?" Harry asked distractedly, looking away from Thalia Greengrass kissed Adrian Pucey on the cheek.

"The Stone!" Hermione hissed. "Professor Dumbledore's an old friend of Flamel's, so maybe he's guarding the Stone at _Hogwarts_."

Harry frowned at her animation. "How'd you figure that?"

"Remember what Hagrid did?" pressed Hermione, her face flushed. "When Gringotts was robbed on your birthday, and then you told me that Hagrid wouldn't talk about it when you visited him, and you said you thought something was strange."

"Yeah, I did, but-"

"And didn't you say that Hagrid had also emptied that other vault _that only had that one little package_? The _Daily Prophet_ said that the vault that had been broken into _had been emptied earlier that day._"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Well, what if that package in that vault _was the Stone_?"

Harry said nothing, thinking hard. Was it possible? He remembered being curious about what was in vault seven hundred and thirteen, and Hagrid's behaviour concerning the whole thing _was_ suspicious. And what about what Hagrid had said to Harry about the bank: _"Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – 'cept maybe Hogwarts."_

'_Except Hogwarts'._ And Hagrid had certainly been very proud of the fact that Dumbledore trusted him with important things; Snape had asked if Quirrell had found out "_how to get past that beast of Hagrid's_".

"But Hermione," Harry said slowly, "If it _is_ here at Hogwarts, why hasn't anyone come across it yet?"

Hermione bounced excitedly in her chair. "But there _is_ somewhere students don't go Harry!"

"The Forbidden Forest?"

"Yes, there is that, but what about what Professor Dumbledore warned us about at the welcome banquet? 'The third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.'"

Harry froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He and Hermione stared at one another, minds spinning with possibilities. Their stunned silence was only broken when and second year let off an enchanted firecracker, which whizzed around the room, scaring Millie's black cat Archimedes, who shot under a leather sofa and refused to be coaxed back out.

"Harry" said Hermione under the yells of the prefects, her voice suddenly serious. "Promise me you won't tell anyone about this. Especially not Draco, or he might do something very stupid and very dangerous.

For once, Harry didn't argue.

* * *

><p>"That oafish friend of yours has a dirty little secret."<p>

Harry, who was looking up 'Dittany' in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up. Exams were approaching, and the teachers had given them a mountain of homework, leaving Harry very little time to even think about the Philosopher's Stone. Confined to the library during his free time by Hermione, trying to get through all of his extra work, Harry had no time to waste on indulging Draco, who apparently couldn't accept not having his friends' undivided attention, instead choosing to annoy them instead. Draco had sidled up to Harry with a triumphant smirk that only spelled trouble for the brunette.

"Go _away_ Drake," he hissed as the other boy slid his chair over and draped himself over Harry's open books.

"But don't you want to know that gamekeeper's secret?" he crooned, refusing to budge as Harry pushed at him.

Harry groaned, knowing better than to argue. "Fine, then, tell me."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "_Please_" Harry bit out through gritted teeth.

Draco smirked. "Good boy" he said, leaning back and slapping down a book in front of them.

Curious, Hermione paused in her own study to read out the title aloud. "_From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide_." She glanced at Harry, eyes wide.

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry slowly.

"But it's against our laws!" exclaimed Hermione, looking frightened. "Dragon-breeding was outlawed by the Warlock's Convention of 1709. What on earth is Hagrid up to? Surely he isn't thinking of..."

Draco's smirk grew. "Yes he is thinking. I know exactly what he's up to: the great idiot's gone and got himself a dragon egg."

Harry scowled. "Don't call him an idiot. And how do you know he's got an egg? Hermione just said it's _illegal_. Hagrid might just be reading about it, that's all."

Draco's smirk widened into a cruel grin. "I saw him borrowing a book on dragon raising: _Dragon breeding for Pleasure and Profit_, and your right, that's not the suspicious part. He _does_ have his curtains drawn down in that hut of his, and he hasn't been attending meals and has been neglecting his duties. So I nipped down to check it out, and I could see through a gap in the curtains – ("Draco!" Hermione chastised) – and voila! Little leathery thing is running around on his table."

He cackled with glee, not stopping even when the librarian, Madam Pince, chased them out for 'disruptive and unruly behaviour'. As soon as they were out of earshot in a deserted corridor, Harry grabbed the front of Draco's robes.

"Don't you dare tell on Hagrid, Draco" Harry growled, his face inches from the blonde's. "I mean it, don't even think about breaking a single _word_ to anyone, or I'll make sure you regret it."

The other boy sneered. "It makes no difference to me if I tell or not," Draco hissed, grey eyes glinting maliciously. "Soon enough, everyone's going to know about that dragon anyway; they grow fast, and that great idiot _lives in a wooden hut_."

He grabbed Harry's wrists and ripped them off, straightening his robes before he marched away, but of course, he paused long enough to call back over his shoulder. "But I won't tell Harry, just so I can see you sweat over saving that fool. Good luck."

Harry's loud swearing joined the blonde's laughter.

But surprisingly, Draco did keep his word. That didn't stop him shooting knowing looks at Harry, who was furious enough as it was. He and Hermione had gone down to Hagrid's hut to demand to see the baby dragon for themselves. When Hagrid discovered that they already knew, he proudly showed them it, who he had named 'Norbert', excitedly telling them about the species and care involved, waxing poetic as the horrible thing sank its teeth into Hagrid's boot.

The two of them had attempted to reason with Hagrid, but their pleas to get rid of it fell on deaf ears; Hagrid was smitten. Hermione had to concede defeat when her exam frenzy reclaimed her, and Harry was left on his own to deal with Hagrid.

Harry was at his wits end. He didn't want the gamekeeper to get in trouble, but he had absolutely no idea what to do about it, he knew nothing of dragons, and Hagrid refused to release it into the wild, claiming Norbert was too young.

And then, the solution came to him. It was Potions, and Draco was flicking pufferfish eyes at the back of Ron's head, when the answer occurred to Harry. It was risky, dangerous, and downright stupid, but his need to get rid of that damn dragon trumped his own feelings. As that old muggle TV show had said, "Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the need of the few."

Shaking off the others with a quick "Toilet", Harry managed to corner Ron on the Gryffindor's way down to Herbology. Ignoring the looks from the rest of the redhead's house, Harry asked quietly, "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Ron smiled. "Sure."

It was easier than Harry anticipated. Ron wrote to his older brother Charlie, who was working with dragons in Romania. A week later, Hedwig returned with Charlie's reply, who was happy to take Norbert. Ron thankfully was helpful about the whole situation, looking at it in excitement, an adventure, he called it. Harry was glad of the Gryffindor's assistance, but silently, he thought that calling it 'an adventure' was a bit much, it was a huge pain in the arse. He could not wait to be rid of the baby dragon, which was growing at an alarming rate.

But his anxiety about the dragon was nothing compared to his fear of being found out by the rest of the Slytherins. Now that Ron was in on the plan, Harry often had to seek out the Gryffindor and vice versa, which didn't go unnoticed.

Hermione had a hissed interrogation ready for him in Charms, unheard beneath the chatter and everyone's work. But it was when Draco began to catch on that Harry lost it. The blonde was barely talking to him now, he wasn't even insulting him, which was a measure of just how much trouble Harry had landed himself in.

Harry was considering doing something drastic, just to alleviate the tension, but Ron was helpfully reminding him that it would be all over by midnight on Saturday, when a group of Charlie's friends would collect Norbert from the Astronomy Tower. For Harry, the weekend couldn't come fast enough.

It was a dark, cloudy night when Harry and Ron arrived at Hagrid's hut on Saturday. They'd timed it so that everyone was at dinner, and Harry had somehow managed to convince a suspicious Hermione to cover for his absence, while Ron was supposedly sick in the Hospital Wing after an 'accident' involving a dare and some dubious every flavour beans.

Wary of their limited time, they allowed Hagrid a very quick teary goodbye before they hoisted the crate containing Norbert and racing back across the grounds.

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew, half expecting to come across Filch or Mrs Norris as they snuck up to the Astronomy Tower, which was out of bounds excepting classes. But they did make it, out of breath, flopping down under the starry sky to wait for midnight to come.

It got very cold very quickly, and Ron and Harry pulled their cloaks around them, shivering in the chilly wind. By the time Charlie's friends arrived, Harry's muscles were frozen stiff, and after finishing harnessing Norbert between brooms and waving goodbye, they didn't linger in the night air, tiptoeing quickly back down the spiral stairs.

So relieved to be rid of the dragon, Harry and Ron grinned at each other as they made their way down the seventh floor. They'd done it, the impossible. What could spoil their elation at the adventure now? (It was considered an adventure now that it was over.)

"I _knew_ it!"

Oh, bollocks.

Standing at the end of the corridor, Draco was glaring at Harry, his white-blonde hair glinting in the light of his wand. Hermione was behind him, glancing from Harry to Ron to Draco, looking petrified.

"I'm sorry Harry," she whispered. "I tried to stop him, but he was going on about the dragon and –"

"Never mind that," snarled Draco. "What on earth are you doing up here alone with _him_?" he demanded, jabbing his wand at Ron.

Excuses, alibis and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He had to explain, or Draco would misunderstand.

But Ron beat him to it. "What's the matter Malfoy?" he snarled. "Jealous?"

Draco seemed to swell like a balloon. "Why would ii be jealous of a Weasel like _you_?" he spat back.

Ron rose up as well, trembling with fury. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because Harry needed _my_ help and not _yours_. He came to _me_ and not _you_!"

Draco's face went very white.

"No, wait, it's not like that!" Harry cried desperately, stretching out a hand to Draco, "I just needed to get rid of the dragon."

"Shut UP!" screamed Draco; his wand tip emitting red sparks. "There is no excuse to pal around with a filthy blood traitor!"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Ron shouted over him. "Why can't Harry pal around with me? After all, we are _friends_."

There it was, his secret betrayal. Harry could see the blank shock in Draco's eyes, the denial, and Hermione was looking from Harry to Ron with wide eyes.

"Drake," Harry murmured, his eyes pleading, but at his voice, the blonde's face smoothed into a blank mask. But Harry had to make things right. "I, I just –"

"Well, well, well," and oily voice purred from the darkness. "We _are_ in trouble"

Filch had found them.

* * *

><p><em>*Congrats on anyone who got this, though I have no idea what JK was expecting, after all how many 10 year olds know Latin?<em>

_**Despite my liberal use of "mudblood" in the past as a general term for muggle-born, upon rereading C.S. I realised that mudblood was an impolite racial slur, and despite Lucius' disgust for them, he's too much an aristocrat to use it in public, something I think he would enforce on Draco._

_***Just in case anyone cares because this might seem totally OC of him, Lucius isn't going absolutely berserk about Draco's befriending Hermione because of Harry, who Lucius wanted Draco to be on friendly terms with (his is supposed to be a reformed Death Eater, gotta think of his public image). In this case, Draco told his father about the whole troll incident and Lucius gave him a very stern dressing-down, but heavily 'implied' concerning the "no muggle-born" thing that Draco could make a concession for Hermione if she proved herself, only because she is a friend of Harry's (and Slytherin)._

_****Remember, Harry doesn't play Seeker in this fic, he plays Chaser._

_*****In the books, it is stated that he celebrated his 665__th__ birthday the year before._

_A/N And there it is, the longest chapter yet that I have an abusive relationship with; I hate it, but I still love it. Because as much as I would have liked Harry and Ron to remain friends, this is a focus on Harry and Draco's relationship, and their illicit affair was doomed from the start, so duh, of course he found out._

_Please review, nothing makes me happier – except chocolate OMNOMNOMNOMNOM. Thanks for reading, and remember, Rabbit loves you._

_Preview:_

'_Draco had done the smart thing in that situation, and he was sure every other Slytherin would agree with his decision. But of course, Harry hadn't done the same, and it was at strange moments like these that Draco thought that the fool would really be better off in a different house, something like Hufflepuff, where nobody did anything of importance. That way, at least, Harry would be safe._

_And Draco did want him to be safe; he just wanted Harry to be safe with _him_, and not with anyone else. To rely on _him_, come to him when he needed help, ask him what he should do._

He_ was the only one Harry needed in the end.'_


	7. Dangerous Encounters!

_A/N Yes, this is very late, but I had no idea how to wrap up the whole Stone thingy. Also, a little word to the wise, for those duckies who are getting prematurely excited about the "Drarry" and asking for kissing and the like, I would like to remind them that these are __first years__ we are talking about here. They are eleven year old boys; even the reuniting scene last chapter was taking immense liberties and asking for suspension of belief. Any slash forthcoming won't be seen until at least fifth year I'm afraid, this will be strictly bromance until then._

_Also, please visit my profile and vote on my poll concerning Harry in this fic, whether he should go dark or not, I would love to know my duckies' opinions._

_Thank you so much to all those lovely chicken's who reviewed/faved/alerted, and remember, with the gift of reviewing comes the privilege of requests, let me know what you think and I'll try and work in whatever you desire._

_Disclaimer: Ownership is merely a state of mind. In my mind, I own Harry Potter and the Malfoys... mmm, Tom Felton._

* * *

><p>Things couldn't have been worse.<p>

Draco wasn't speaking or even looking at Harry anymore, deliberately sitting beside Hermione once they were in Professor Snape's office, stiff with anger. Ron looked nervous and jumpy, fearfully gazing at the assortment of jars containing slimy things that adorned shelves lining the dungeon walls. Hermione was trembling. Harry felt an extra pang of guilt; he'd dragged her into trouble for no reason other than his own selfishness. He'd gotten them all into trouble.

It was time to set things right. He had to at least save Draco and Hermione, who had nothing wrong, from being punished.

Filch brought down both Snape and McGonagall, the latter furious beyond words. Harry flinched. This was not like the troll incident; they were all in serious trouble.

Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to breath fire as she towered over them. "I can't believe this! Mr Filch says you were up the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_."

There was absolute silence. They had no excuse, at least, none that would save their hides.

Panic enveloped Harry's mind, conjuring outcomes that were each more terrible than the last. It was the dread of being expelled, of returning to the Dursley's wandless and alone just like Hagrid, that made Harry blurt out the first thing he could think of.

"It's my fault," Harry said, trying not to flinch as the two heads of house turned their eyes on him. "I had a fight with Ron, and I was really angry, so I made up a story to get him out of bed and into trouble. Draco and Hermione accidently heard and followed me."

"Really?" said Professor McGonagall, her voice trembling. "So the reason you're all out of bed is because of _some silly prank_?"

That was a voice that was soooo not believing him. After the whole troll debacle, it seemed unlikely that the teachers would buy another cock-and-bull story that it was all just a big misunderstanding. The choices were limited in what the teachers were going to swallow. Harry scrolled through his options, and winced when his mind stopped on the only one that was enough; he didn't want to go that way, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The latent crafty part of his brain took over.

"I – I know it's against the rules to be out of bed at night," Harry said to his knees, making his voice soft and insecure, "But I just – I was getting a hard time because I was hanging out with a Gryffindor, and, well – I didn't mean any of this to happen, I just wanted to... fit in."

Under the cover of his fringe, he glanced to his side. Both Hermione and Draco were staring at him with wide eyes and Hermione even had her mouth open slightly. He gave them a meaningful look before looking back to his knees. When he chanced another look their way, Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes looking wet as she gazed at him with pity, but Draco was glaring at him.

But when their eyes met, Harry saw the merest flicker of something in that silver gaze before Harry hurriedly looked away, refusing to let the corners of his mouth curl: Draco was surprised and a little bit impressed. Harry playing the 'insecure friendless orphan' card was a low blow, but he could deal with the guilt of that later. Thankfully, Hermione and Draco were Slytherins; they knew how to play along. All he had to do now was make sure Ron didn't stuff his story up, but a quick survey of the redhead assured Harry that he wouldn't be a problem; the lie seemed to have rendered the Gryffindor speechless.

Schooling his face into that which was appropriate for a guilt-ridden orphan and nervous first-year, he looked back up at the teachers. Shockingly, Professor McGonagall's face had softened slightly, though she was still frowning. Snape's eyebrows were infinitesimally raised, but Harry couldn't be sure if it was surprise or approval the Slytherin head was feeling. Harry quickly weighed his odds. There was a chance, a good chance, that this just might work and they wouldn't be punished too badly. But that would mean that the others would have to play along with Harry's story, and Draco didn't seem quite ready to forgive the other's betrayal just yet, but hopefully, the blonde would think like a Slytherin: revenge comes after survival, and this allowed a suitable cover to blow off some steam.

"I knew it!" Draco snarled, making Harry jump. He immediately turned to the other boy, wide eyed at the fierceness in his voice. "You have been paling around with Gryffindors then."

Harry's face crumpled, and Draco's lit momentarily with a small spark of malicious glee, before he refocused on the task at hand. "Weasley and Hagrid both," he hissed, "You just love being all friendly with Gryffindors, I bet you wanted to be in their house. How you ended up in Slytherin, I'll never know."

Harry didn't need to fake the shock and hurt he felt at Draco's words; he didn't need reminding that he did want to be in Gryffindor initially, even though in the end he wound up in Slytherin. But the accusation hit a tender spot in Harry, and he could tell Draco knew that, the anger and hurt in his stormy grey eyes softening suddenly with guilt. Harry could feel the apologies on the tip of his tongue, longing to spill out and explain to Draco, to tell him the truth and beg forgiveness before it was too late and that impenetrable mask was back in place.

Thankfully, Hermione was there to pick up the thread before they let it fall. "Don't you start again Draco!" she snapped, her voice teary and angry at the same time. "This is your fault, always giving Harry a hard time. I told you to leave it alone, but _no_, why listen to the muggleborn! And now we're going to be _expelled_ because of your petty little jealousies!" And with that she burst into tears.

Oh, nice. Racial prejudices and some tears, a very nice touch. Professor McGonagall was now looking distinctly upset, and Snape seemed to be fighting the urge to smirk. Ron was staring at Hermione with an open mouth, looking uncomfortable at the girl's wails. Harry, cheering on the inside at her display, patted her back looking guilty. Draco too seemed shamefaced at her words, though his silver eyes were dancing at their performance. At least he was having fun, Harry thought wryly.

"Please don't cry Hermione," Harry said softly, though he made sure his voice could still be heard above her sobs; this _was_ all for the teachers after all. "It's my fault, not Draco's. I'm sure you won't be expelled, you're way too clever to be expelled."

When in doubt, guilt the adults. Harry had never used this particular technique before but he'd seen Dudley employ it often enough with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and the occasional teacher to know how it was done.

"You aren't going to be expelled, Miss Granger" said McGonagall gruffly. Harry looked up at her hopefully. "However," she continued sternly, "This cannot go unpunished. Severus?"

"Twenty points each from Slytherin" Severus said quietly, his face once again blank. "And detention, I think."

McGonagall nodded. "Yes, twenty points from Gryffindor as well." She glared at them again. "I am willing to go easy this time, if only because you are first years, and I understand the difficulties of finding one's place in one's new house. However, if I catch any of you out of bed again, you can expect the punishments to be much more severe. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry ducked his head. "Yes Professor" he said contritely, as the others echoed him. Hook, line and sinker.

It was lucky McGonagall was busy steering a bemused Ron back to bed; otherwise she would have seen the triumphant grins the Slytherins shared.

Slytherin: 1 Gryffindor: 0.

* * *

><p>As undoubtedly was Draco's objective, Harry was absolutely miserable.<p>

Despite managing to get off the hook (for the most part) with the teachers, it was clear that Draco was still furious with Harry for his secret friendship with Ron and now the blonde was punishing Harry for it.

The morning after the whole episode, the Slytherins were quick to notice the sudden drop in points, and Draco made no secret as to the reason why. Usually, losing house points was not something to be proud about, but such a deception pulled off by a couple of first years who were caught by two of the most unforgiving teachers in Hogwarts was quite the achievement, and the rest of the Slytherins was understandably impressed. Until Draco let it be known why they were found out of bed in the first place.

They were none too happy to hear that one of their own had been mucking around with a Gryffindor; they had tolerated Harry's friendship with Hagrid with a cool disdain, but let it be nonetheless – such a friendship could prove advantageous for Harry... possibly. Befriending a first year Gryffindor, on the other hand, was a whole different kettle of fish. The mere fact that Harry had kept it secret was positively scandalous, but combined with who it was, _well_. A poor and average wizard from one of the biggest blood traitor families there was was _not_ an acceptable associate for a Slytherin, particularly the famous saviour of the wizarding world. Through his own foolishness Harry had ensured that every single Slytherin now went out of their way to insult and bully him wherever he went.

Even though it was too little too late, Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and lying; it only ended up biting him in the behind.

Taking the hint from Draco, none of the other first years were speaking with Harry anymore than what was absolutely required; he was back to being known solely as "Potter" and was only spoken to if someone wanted some syrup or could he please pass down the pickled newt. The only exception was Hermione, who instead of ignoring him was speaking to him incessantly, lecturing him nonstop: why he shouldn't meddle, why he should listen to her because she was _always_ right, why he shouldn't have spent his free time flying, and why oh why he shouldn't have struck up a friendship with Ron Weasley. Harry bore it all silently, because no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, she was right, he _had_ brought all of this on himself and he had no one else to blame.

What was even worse was Draco, who not only was giving him the cold shoulder but every now and then he would give a pointed look or make a meaningful remark that would remind Harry just who he had betrayed and what he had given up. He was thoroughly depressed without having Draco at least talk to him and he could only keep his head down and slowly try to worm his way back into the blonde's good books.

Step one was cut all ties with the House of Gryffindor. He made no effort to speak to Hagrid, who was easy enough to avoid, and he was absolutely refusing to even acknowledge Ron, who was likewise pretending Harry didn't exist.

The Slytherins had made it clear that they partly blamed Ron for initiating the friendship (a belief Harry was sure had originated from a certain blonde) and they hissed slurs at the redhead whenever they could. Whether or not Ron was now mad at Harry, he had no idea, but whatever the Gryffindor felt now was none of Harry's concern; their friendship had officially terminated, the trial run had ended in disaster and he was too busy trying to salvage the wreckage to bother following up on a bond that was doomed from the moment Harry made Slytherin.

Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away; all the revision he had to do kept his mind off of his misery. He kept to himself, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients to complicated potions, learn charms and spells off by heart, and memorise the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions.

A week before the exams were due to start, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione and Draco at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

"_Your detention will take place at eleven  
>o'clock tonight. Meet Mr Filch in the<br>Entrance Hall.  
>Prof. S. Snape"<em>

At a quarter to eleven that night Harry made his way up to the entrance hall, hoping to be early enough. After spending months in close living quarters with Draco Malfoy, Harry had come to learn the other boy's various habits, and one of them was being ridiculously punctual. Filch was already standing there – and so was Draco with none of the others in sight.

Harry's pace quickened eagerly, keen to be alone with Draco for the first time since the midnight incident. The blonde watched his approach with a blank face, but seeing no signs of dismissal, Harry didn't change his course.

He slid over to Draco, smiling shyly, who raised his eyebrows but made no comment on their closeness. Inwardly Harry whooped in victory. When Hermione finally arrived to see them standing together she faltered slightly before joining them, looking pleased. Ron was the last to arrive, glancing nervously at the trio of Slytherins, two of whom scowled at the redhead. Just seeing the Gryffindor again made Harry shift towards Draco, an unconscious reminder of who he had chosen in the end. Ron's face darkened at the movement.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

As they marched off across the dark grounds, Filch began to terrorise Ron with graphic descriptions of the 'old style' of punishing students, lovingly reminiscing chains and dungeons, which only made Harry suspect that their punishment must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright but the clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry's heart dropped; why did it have to be _Hagrid_? He'd been going so well on the anti-Gryffindor front and now this. Draco seemed to share his displease, pale lips thinning into a sharp line. On the other hand, Ron seemed relieved, but Filch swooped down onto the Gryffindor's elation immediately.

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?" he hissed at Ron. "Well think again, boy – it's into the Forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

"The Forest?" he repeated sharply. "We can't go in there at night – there are all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard."

Hermione whimpered and clutched Harry's arm while Ron looked about ready to pass out.

"That's your lookout, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got into trouble, shouldn't you?"

At that moment Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, his boarhound Fang at his heels. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"About time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right Harry, Ron?"

Harry was saved from having to answer as Filch cut in coldly. He chanced a look at Draco, but it was too dark to read his face properly. Harry swallowed and turned back to the adults as Hagrid dismissed Filch, who couldn't resist a final remark.

"I'll be back at dawn for what's left of them" Filch said nastily as he started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Draco now turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going into that Forest" he said with a note of panic.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff; it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be writing lines or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he'd –"

"– tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Writin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Draco didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously but then dropped his gaze. Harry was stunned. He'd never seen Hagrid treat anyone like that before, nor had he ever witnessed the way the gamekeeper was eyeing Draco with obvious dislike. Harry had previously gotten the impression that maybe Hagrid was a bit prejudiced against Slytherins, but it was the first time Harry had actually seen him interact with a Slytherin student aside from himself and Hermione.

Harry couldn't help but feel slightly resentful at Hagrid's behaviour, even as they were informed about their detention (seriously, looking for an injured unicorn in a dangerous forest in the middle of the night? Surely there were laws preventing the school from making the students do this*) and they were split into two groups. He had every intention of going with Draco, but the other boy seemed intent on being with Ron. Harry felt disappointed for all of a second until he realised why Draco was doing that: he had already punished Harry for the dragon incident, now it was Ron Weasley's turn.

As the two boys trotted away with Fang in the lead, Harry silently prayed that neither of them ended up dead.

* * *

><p>The Forest was silent and still. Nothing stirred in the darkness as they made their way down the path, eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.<p>

Fang seemed perfectly at ease, sniffing at tree trunks and bushes, his tail wagging happily. Draco hurried to keep the boarhound in sight, wand held high as the dog continually slipped from the glow of his wand and into the surrounding darkness, only to reappear ahead as a looming shadow.

The stillness of the night was broken with a loud yelp. Draco spun around; heart in his mouth and wand aloft, but it was only the Weasel, sprawled on the ground.

Draco sneered at the fallen boy. "It's good to know how clumsy you are, Weasley. Should we have to flee anything, at least I'll know I'll outrun you."

Weasley got up with a glare. "If you outrun me it's only because Slytherins are very good at running away" he snapped. Draco raised his brows. Was the Weasel trying to match him in a battle of wits? Well then.

"That's because we like to live long enough to do anything, though if you meant that as an insult, it was a pathetic effort."

"Big talk for a scaredy cat. You weren't so sure of yourself earlier, now were you?"

Draco shrugged. "That's because I'm smart enough to be wary of potentially dangerous things, a concept I'm sure is quite foreign to a Gryffindor. I pity the fools who don't have enough brains to be afraid, they often don't last long."

"You, smart? Puh-lease. Everyone can see that Granger is twelve times smarter than you."

"Says the boy who probably doesn't even know his twelve times table. And I didn't say I was the smartest, just smart, though I'm not surprised you didn't realise that."

Weasley was furious, trembling with anger as he curled and uncurled his fists. Draco smirked and turned to go; satisfied he had the last word. Fang had moved on further down the track, night eyes glinting in the gloom. He opened his mouth to call the dog back, but the Weasel just couldn't let things go.

"If you're so smart and I'm so dumb, how come Harry still chose me over you?"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. That was too low a blow for him to let slide. He'd assumed after the dragon fiasco that Weasley had given up on Harry, but apparently not. Well, that changed things. He had been planning on scaring the Weasel as punishment, but it looked like Draco was going to have to teach the redhead his proper place.

He wheeled around to face the Gryffindor, who looked smug in the face of Draco's ire. Weasley stopped smirking when Draco pointed his wand at the other's face.

"Haven't you realised it yet?" Draco said softly, eyes trained on the other boy. "You've lost. In the end, Harry chose me. _He chose me!_ He needed your help, yes, but when you were no longer useful you were discarded like the garbage you are. Harry wants _me_, not you; _I'm_ the one he cares about."

He smiled coldly in the face of the Weasel's growing fury.

"It's _you_ who's jealous of _me_, because I'm the one who's special to Harry Potter, I'm the friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, and you're just a nobody, the least impressive of his more talented brothers and the son of a blood traitor. You may have thought you could get in good with Harry first before anyone else, but you see, I met him long before you did. I was the first real wizard he ever met**, and I became his first true friend, I was the first and always will be. You can never beat me Weasley, Harry's _mine_."

Weasley lost it. "HARRY IS NOT SOME TOY YOU OWN MALFOY" he bellowed, lunging at Draco, but a physical attack wasn't going to work twice; Draco had gotten the measure of the Gryffindor from their fight at the Quidditch match and he was ready this time.

"_Petrificus Totalus_" he cried, and Weasley limbs snapped together mid spring, sending him crashing to the ground once more.

Draco laughed, twirling his wand as he nudged the fallen boy onto his back.

"You're right, Harry is no toy," he smiled down into the Weasel's frozen face. Only his eyes remained moving, and they glared up at Draco with untold fury. "But he _does_ belong to me."

No longer smiling, he pointed his wand at the Gryffindor. "And it's high time I teach you a lesson about touching what isn't yours."

* * *

><p>In all honesty, Draco didn't care one jot if that oaf of a gamekeeper was mad at him. All that mattered now was that everything was once again in its proper place.<p>

In the scuffle the Weasel had accidently shot up red sparks into the sky but Draco had retaliated quickly and forgot about it as the Gryffindor thrashed on the ground, unable to stand from the Dancing Feet Jinx. Fang, seeing an easy target, bounded back to them, baying madly as he jumped on the fallen redhead and licked and slobbered over every available inch. Draco had to lean against a tree trunk in order to stay vertical, he was laughing so hard. And the fun didn't end there, as Hagrid made a timely arrival but was unable to remove the jinx himself and had to have Draco end it. Only the threat of expulsion made him comply, but the complete control of the moment had been exquisite nonetheless. Even better, Weasley hadn't ratted to Hagrid that they had been fighting, though it was obvious enough to anyone with half a brain, but the gamekeeper was clearly more concerned with the unicorn than their tomfoolery that he said nothing, angrily ordering them to follow as he stomped back the way he came. Clearly, the oaf no longer trusted them to be alone, but Draco was more than happy to rejoin Harry and Hermione.

He and the Weasel were shooting glares at one another behind Hagrid's enormous back when screams echoed through the Forest. Red sparks lit the night sky and Hagrid immediately tore off without a word. Heart in his throat, Draco didn't hesitate to run after him. There was no way he was going to let his only protection out of his sight now. Dashing through the thick trees, he cursed Hagrid leaving Hermione and Harry alone. If they were hurt –

And then Harry was there, shivering and pale beside an equally shaken Hermione, astride a palomino centaur with white-blonde hair.

As soon as he caught sight of Draco, Harry slid off the centaur's back and flung himself, trembling, into Draco's arms. Hermione barely managed to explain what happened, fighting back sobs as she told Hagrid of the unicorn and the blood-drinking cloaked figure. The centaur, Firenze, took over when Hermione choked, tears running down her cheeks. Draco silently held out an arm and Hermione fell onto his shoulder, sobbing into his cloak as Harry disengaged one arm to hug her as well.

Looking between Harry and Hermione's heads, Draco caught the eye of the sour-faced Weasel as he watched the three of them embrace. Not looking away, Draco rubbed the backs of the two brunets smugly, smirking in triumph.

Weasley turned away.

* * *

><p><em>*Seriously, what the hell Hogwarts, ever heard of child-safety laws? It's almost like you want to off some of the students, what with the Whomping Willow, Forbidden Forest, and Fluffy in an extra classroom.<em>

_**Draco obviously doesn't count Hagrid (for good reason), but he really wasn't (Dedalus Diggle, Quirrell, etc) but Draco's just arrogant that way_

_A/N My apologies if Draco seemed a little creepy in his possessiveness of Harry, but he's such a spoilt brat that I imagine he would be concerning someone he truly considered a close friend. It's nothing romantic yet, just Draco being a total child because someone else tried to play with his favourite toy, so he had a tantrum ;) And does anyone else kinda dislike Hagrid? He's so damn prejudiced against Slytherins, he turned Harry off the house before the kid even stepped foot into the school. I mean, sure they may be kinda mean, but seriously, _everyone _in that house turns out bad? Way to be objective on the subject matter there Hagrid._

_Anyways, sorry again for the late-arse update, but the next chapter will be swiftly following. Pretty please review, and if you like, some suggestions and requests which are always welcome._

_Rabbit loves you._

_Next Chapter!_

_Harry vs. Quirrel!Voldemort and an uncomfortable encounter with Dumbledore._


	8. Tell The Truth!

_A/N Hands up for everyone who loved the last movie! And apologies for the lateness of this chapter, but first things first, a response to reviewers!_

_1. THESE ARE ELEVEN YEAR OLDS! Yes, Draco and Harry are being absolutely horrible, particularly in their treatment of Ron, who deserves better. But that's just how children sometimes are, cruel simply because they don't know any better. As Ravenpuff kindly pointed out, Draco is being incredibly childish BECAUSE HE STILL IS A CHILD!_

_2. No, I don't approve of abusive or manipulative relationships or bullying at all. However, try to look at Draco and Harry's relationship from the perspective of a child; this kind of thing unfortunately does happen, and they simply aren't quite mature enough to know any better. That doesn't excuse their behaviour entirely, but just look at James and Sirius' treatment of Severus and remember that arsehole kids CAN grow up into decent people._

_3. Harry may be a little annoying at the moment for having no backbone, but remember that he's come from a household that neglected and emotionally abused him all his life, and it was only at Hogwarts that he became more confident in himself. Gryffindor served as a nurturing environment for Harry, but Slytherin is a house of ambition, and Harry is still trying not to be so intimidated by them all. Plus, Harry really wanted to fit in at Hogwarts, something often mentioned in the books, so his fear of social ostracism and desire for acceptance is the driving force behind Harry's actions in this fic._

_4. My calling my lovely readers "Duckies" may be creepy, but that's because I'm a creepy gal._

_5. Someone mentioned Nott accidently being in there, and yeah, I know I slipped up there, just ignore him, it's a glitch in the matrix_

_I feel so bad about how I treated Ron, I was so determined not to bash him, but the fic got away from me, so I'm determined to redeem myself for my poor mistreated redhead._

_WARNING: Copious amounts of canon will be present in this chapter, but it will be pretty much the last to be seen in this fic. Please feel free to skip over it if it bores you, and I apologise for my sowing the seeds of plot canon and ignoring the Drarry slash, which will not be present this chapter._

_Disclaimer: As usual, any and all canonical elements of Harry Potter present belongs to JK, who is not me, the rest that spews forth from my fingertips I claim as my own._

* * *

><p>Summer was tantalisingly close; the weather alone was evidence of that. Harry almost couldn't believe the school year was almost over; it seemed only yesterday he'd been sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs and at the mercy of Dudley and his friends. But the term still had one more hurdle before it ended: exams.<p>

It seemed almost ridiculous that something so normal could still happen after the insanity of the Forbidden Forest, but despite Harry's concerns, Voldemort did _not_ come bursting through the Entrance Hall doors on a murderous rampage. This, of course, meant Harry had to sit and suffer in the swelteringly hot classroom as they did their written papers and try to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead as he tried to make his pineapple tap-dance across the desk. It certainly wasn't helping that he was having trouble sleeping; his old nightmare of a flash of green light had returned; only now it had the added bonus of a hooded figure dripping blood.

The only bright spot in all this was Draco, who was not only talking to Harry now but was in an almost constant state of euphoria. For his birthday, he'd received a set of solid silver Gobstones, which Queenie* had informed Harry were pretty expensive, as well as an enormous birthday cake sent over by his parents. Harry's gift seemed rather pathetic next to that, but Draco had been thrilled over his new black and gold pheasant-feather quill and deemed it his new good luck charm, using it for every written exam then on.

Harry hadn't told Draco about Voldemort or the Stone yet, nor did he ever intend to. Draco had finally forgiven him, and he wasn't about to go and put the blonde in danger. The troll and detention in the Forest had been more than enough, thank you very much.

Now that he and Draco were on speaking terms again, the other Slytherins saw fit to forgive Harry and no longer harassed him, something that came as a welcome relief; he had too much on his plate as it was, and exams had brought a whole new set of difficulties.

Draco and Hermione had become engaged in a contest of wills, each determined to outrank the other in the exams, and the rest of the house had happily begun a sweeps on who would triumph: pureblood or mudblood? Harry was determinedly remaining neutral for his own personal welfare.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. Hermione and Draco almost seemed to be racing as their quills sped over the parchment, finishing long before the hour was up and refusing the cheer with the others when Professor Binns told them to put their quills down and roll up their parchment.

Even as they joined the crowds flocking out into the sunny grounds, both were still loudly going through their exam papers, Harry sandwiched in-between them as they compared answers. For whatever mad reason, Harry had assumed that now that the exams were over they could relax, but clearly he was being naïve. Joining the others in the shade of a tree by the lake, Harry desperately tried to zone out their voices; it was too nice a day to be concentrating on school work anymore than necessary, particularly having finally finished their exams.

Lying back on the grass, Harry absently rubbed his forehead, his scar twinging with pain as Draco argued that Elfric the Eager's uprising was a useful point in question twenty-three and Hermione tried to shout him down. Closing his eyes drowsily, Harry let his mind wander as the two continued to bicker. They were free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out, and he had every intention of enjoying it.

His scar prickled again.

Despite the warmth of the day, Harry shivered as a thought slithered across his mind like a cloud across the sun. _It's a warning... it means danger's coming_.

* * *

><p>Harry woke with a start, a high cold laugh still ringing in his ears. Heart pounding, Harry pressed his glasses to nose, squinting in the faint green light that served as the only illumination in the dormitory. He could just make out the outlines of Draco and Greg curled in their beds, their curtains left undrawn. Nothing stirred in the room; all the other boys were fast asleep.<p>

Still, Harry felt unsettled. He was filled with a restless energy; it felt as though he'd forgotten something, something important he had to do. Resigning himself to not getting back to sleep, he tiptoed from the dormitory. Harry crept into the Common Room and sat down at the table Draco usually commandeered for himself. His silver set of Gobstones still sat there where he'd been showing off before bed and Harry curiously picked out the largest one, rolling the cool sphere between his palms.

Unable to sit still, Harry stood and begun to pace, hoping to work off whatever was eating at him. This was _ridiculous_, he though angrily. Why was he feeling all worked up _now_? The exams were over and nothing bad had happened despite all his misgivings.

"Ah, Potter."

Harry almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the potion master's voice, automatically slipping the silver Gobstone into his pocket lest he be accused of theft. Snape stood by the open entrance wall, watching him coolly.

"Sir?" Harry responded automatically with feigned innocence, not even bothering to wonder why Snape was there at such an hour. He'd always assumed his head of house had a secret radar for picking up when Harry was doing something he probably shouldn't.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Come with me, Potter" he said, already turning. "There is a matter of grave importance I have to discuss with you".

"Right now?" asked Harry, surprised.

Snape paused in the entrance doorway, his dark eyes glittering coldly. "Is that a problem with you, Potter?" he said silkily. His tone held no room for argument and Harry hastened to follow with a mumbled "No, sir."

Snape led him through the winding passages, the light of his wand casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. Harry shivered.

They reached dungeon five, Snape opening the door with a curt "In". Harry shivered again as he stood in the empty classroom, the stale smell of old potions tickling his nose. He'd been hoping they were going to Snape's office, which mercifully had a fireplace; none of the dungeons had any heating and thus at night could drop to freezing temperatures.

"Sir?" Harry asked, rubbing his arms to ward off the chill of the dungeon. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Snape leaned on the door, eyeing Harry in silence. "No," he said at last. "I don't suppose this can be done without you, Potter."

"Wha–" Harry began, but Snape had already lifted his wand and then Harry was falling into the darkness.

* * *

><p>This was wrong on so many levels, but all Harry could focus on was that tying up, gagging and then kidnapping a young boy probably fulfilled a couple of the criteria under the definition of "Bad Teacher". A teacher who was a paedophile with an S&amp;M fetish. Doesn't the school usually try to screen out those kinds of people? Next he'll find out that the real Snape was secretly into bestiality**.<p>

"Look into the mirror and tell me what you see."

What he saw was himself kneeing Quirrell in the balls, grabbing his wand and cursing his teacher into oblivion. No wait, that was just his own fantasy. He bit back a hysterical giggle. Now was not the time to panic. Doing so before had just gotten him hit by a Stinging Hex before he was untied and thrown across the room to land in a heap.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry refocused on the mirror before him.

It was easy enough to figure out how the Mirror worked; the strange inscription at the top was just written backwards and spaced differently, any child over nine could see that. Harry had foolishly cut off Quirrell's explanation by telling him so, only to receive a slap in the face for his cheek.

"_I show not your face but your heart's desire"._ Straightforward enough. But he'd been expecting something more than this though, because at the moment, all he saw was his own reflection.

"I just see you and me" Harry finally responded, but when Quirrell raised his wand angrily, he hastily continued. "It's true! I swear that's really all I see. It looks just like a normal mirror would, nothing different at all."

Quirrell frowned at him then at the mirror, before he cursed under his breath.

"I see. The threat of death means that your heart's desire is your own continued existence" Quirrell growled mostly to himself. "But how to fix that? What should I do Master?"

A voice answered, seemingly from Quirrell himself, but his lips weren't moving. "Let me speak to him... face to face..."

Quirrell didn't seem at all startled to hear a voice issuing from his vicinity. "Master, you are not yet strong enough!"

The high voice spoke again. "I have strength enough... for this..."

Harry couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backwards, but his legs would move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you take another look in that mirror... Help me, and I shall spare your life... if not... I'm sure Quirrell can... persuade you."

Harry's legs shook. There was no doubt that if he did not do as the face said, Quirrell would torture him. But if he did, then Lord Voldemort would rise once more. His mind raced as he tried to think of something, _anything_, that would get him out of this.

Quirrell half turned and raised his wand.

"OK!" Harry shouted. "I'll do as you say."

"Good boy" the voice hissed, the snake-like face now hidden from view as Quirrell steered Harry back in front of the mirror. "Now, look into the mirror Harry, and find me the Stone."

Once again, Harry looked into the mirror, and just as before, he saw nothing but his own scared reflection.

"Concentrate your thoughts, Harry" the voice advised softly.

Screwing up his face, Harry focused with all his might. 'Work,' he thought desperately. 'Show me my stupid heart's desire before I get myself killed.'

And then his reflection moved without him.

It winked at Harry before it called silently over its shoulder. Quirrell came into view, looking eager, but when Harry glanced over his own shoulder, the real Quirrell was still standing where he was before. Harry turned back to the mirror. His reflection pointed to the side, still speaking to reflection-Quirrell, who hurried towards the mirror then disappeared around the edge and didn't reappear.

"The Mirror showed me that you need to go behind it" he told Quirrell.

Quirrell, like his mirror-image, looked exited and hurried behind the gilded frame. "And then?" he called, hidden behind the enormous mirror.

"Hold on" Harry said, refocusing on his reflection again. The reflection grinned and put its hand into its pocket and winked. Harry did the same. And then he smiled.

"Potter, what now?" shouted Quirrell impatiently. Harry ignored him. Approaching the mirror, Harry placed a hand on the smooth surface as his reflection did the same. He half expected to feel warm flesh, not glass.

"Potter?" Quirrell snarled. "What's going–"

Harry raised his fist with the silver Gobstone and with all his might brought it against the mirror. His reflection disappeared into a thousand lines, the glass splintering with a thunderous crack.

Harry was already running towards the door as Quirrell and Voldemort screamed in rage, but a hand clamped around his wrist before he could escape. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two. He yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened – he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone and saw him huddled in pain, looking at his fingers – they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck – Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered at his own palms – Harry could see they looked burnt, raw, red and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell pulled out his wand, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face –

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain – his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him performing any magic.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw him off, but Harry hung on tight; he was not about to let himself be killed, not by Quirrell and certainly not by Voldemort, not this time, when he actually was able to fight back. Hermione and Draco were waiting for him.

Quirrell collapsed to the ground and this time Harry was the one pining _him_. Harry barely registered the terrible shrieking as his fingers scrabbled to hold onto Quirrell's face; the pain in Harry's head throbbed with his heartbeat, and his only thought was that of survival. His teacher writhed on the floor, hands desperately trying to claw at Harry.

Lifting his right arm from Quirrell's face, Harry caught his pyjama sleeve*** in between his teeth and ripped. Forearm now bare, he released Quirrell's face and caught the flailing hands, pining them to the floor with his naked right arm, leaving his left free to tear at Quirrell's robes until he met flesh.

He splayed his fingers, searching for a heartbeat. Quirrell's screams drowned out anything Voldemort was saying as Harry fought against his own pain, left hand pressed flat against Quirrell's chest, directly over his heart.

And then his scar split open, agony flinging Harry to the ground, clutching his forehead, sure that his head had been cleaved in two. A voice was in his head, whispering, hissing, laughing beneath the pain.

"_You destroyed my servant and my Stone, Harry Potter. Lord Voldemort is most displeased. You have killed me once more. First a baby, now a child. A born murderer. We shall meet again, little serpent, but how many more will you have killed by then? After all, to kill is your destiny Harry. Our destiny... together..."_

Then the pain swallowed him up and Harry fell into blackness, down... down... down...

* * *

><p>Something gold was glinting just above him. He blinked. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.<p>

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered. "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! On his head, a face! I mean, another face! Sir, quick–"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"No, you see, the face wanted the Stone, Quirrell–"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He was in the hospital wing, lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half a sweet-shop.

"Tokens from your friends," said Dumbledore with a smile. "What happened between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret of course, but your house has always been very good at learning of things they should not."

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days. Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy will be most relieved you have come around; they have been extremely worried."

Harry was silent for a long moment, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. "But sir, the Stone. I shattered the Mirror."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, and yes, in doing so you destroyed the Stone. Miss Granger has informed me that you are already aware of my friend Nicolas Flamel, who is, I assure you, not troubled in the slightest at its loss. He was well aware that the Stone being destroyed was a possibility when he placed it in my care. In fact, I think he's rather glad it's gone. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure; for Nicolas and Perenelle, it will be like going to bed after a very, very long day."

Harry frowned, pondering this. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry slowly. "What about Quirrell?"

At this, Dumbledore frowned, the twinkle in his blue eyes vanishing. "Ah yes, I was wondering when we'd come to that. Quirrell did not survive your encounter; the damage you inflicted on him was simply too great for him to handle, and Voldemort left him to die."

Harry was speechless. He'd killed somebody, and not by accident as when Voldemort had died when he was a baby, but actually knowingly brought about someone's death by his very own hands. He was a _murderer_. Just like–

"Sir?" said Harry quietly, no longer able to look at Dumbledore. "I've been thinking. Even if the Stone's gone, Vol– ... I mean, You-Know-Who –"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. Nevertheless, Harry, you managed to successfully delay his return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth" Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions to the best of my ability, unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case, I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

If Harry had been placed in Hufflepuff or even Gryffindor, he would not have argued. But he was a Slytherin, and that kind of poor excuse was not going to cut it. Twice now Voldemort had tried to kill him and whatever reason he had in wanting Harry dead was something he most definitely _did_ want to know. He wasn't about to let Voldemort have a third go at offing him without knowing _why_.

"But you said it yourself, sir, Voldemort's still out there. What if he tries to kill me again?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but you are much too young to know the truth of this."

"My parents _died_ because of him; he _killed_ them. Killed them so he could get to _me_. What possible reason did he have for wanting to kill me, a baby? Tell me the truth!"

This last sentence was half shouted across the empty hospital wing. Harry felt hot, his skin prickling with anger and embarrassment. Dumbledore said nothing, looking at Harry with a sad frown. Despite his shame for yelling, Harry didn't look away from the probing blue eyes. He had the right to _know_, and Dumbledore damn well knew that. Being young was no excuse.

At last, Dumbledore looked away, staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Finally he spoke, eyes still trained on the cloudless sky.

"It was not my intention to tell you this until you were much older, but, due to recent events, I cannot rightfully deny you the truth if you insist on knowing. However, I will say this: the truth is a most heavy burden, Harry, one which may affect you strongly. By denying you the truth, I hope to protect you from this."

Harry smiled slightly. "Thank you sir, but the last time someone kept the truth from me, I spent ten years with my horrible relatives who punished me every time something weird happened and who told me my parents died in a car crash. Learning the truth about being a wizard, it was the greatest day of my entire life. Finding out my parents were murdered was horrible, I'm not saying it wasn't. But still, knowing the truth is better than living under the illusion of some lie. That's how I feel, anyway. Sir, I don't want to be kept in the dark anymore."

Dumbledore shook his head with a slight smile. "You are too brave by half, Harry. You would have done well in Gryffindor." Harry blushed at this, secretly pleased. "I can see that denying you the truth will only cause problems, but what I am going to tell you, I had intended to inform you when you were older.

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired."

"A prophecy?" said Harry, nonplussed. "A prophecy about me and Voldemort? What did it say?"

Dumbledore leaned back and closed his eyes. "_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power that the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...'_"

Harry digested these words in silence. _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord'._ So he was supposed to be the one destined to _kill_ Lord Voldemort? Well so far the odds seemed to be in his favour. _'He will have a power that the Dark Lord knows not'_. Now _that_ sounded rather sketchy. Harry had only learnt he was even capable to magic less than a year ago, and he was supposed to have a power that the most feared wizard of his time didn't? And Voldemort had also apparently marked Harry as his 'equal', which was all kinds of wrong. How was he, as a mere baby, equal to the 'Dark Lord'? This entire prophecy smelt kind of fishy.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still sitting with his eyes closed, seemed completely lost in thought. "I think that prophecy is wrong. I mean, what possible power could _I_ have that Voldemort doesn't? And why me anyway? I'm not smart like Hermione, or–"

Dumbledore reopened his eyes and shook his head sadly. "The prophecy said, '_a power the Dark Lord knows not'_. Voldemort understands many things, but one of the most important branches of magic resides in something he places little importance with. However, it is this magic that saved you from the Killing Curse that fateful night, that made Quirrell incapable of touching you without causing himself severe pain."

Harry leaned forward eagerly. "What is that, sir?"

"Love, Harry. Oh you may look like that," Dumbledore said with a smile at Harry's incredulous look. "But it was out of love that your mother died to save you, and such a powerful love as that of your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, who shared his body and soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason."

"Just love?" Harry said, annoyed. "That's the only thing I have over Voldemort? My mother's love?"

Dumbledore's smile widened. "Do not underestimate such a power, Harry, or you'll be making the same mistake as Voldemort did, and that proved to be his downfall."

Harry felt rather insulted at being compared to Voldemort.

"So now what?" asked Harry. "Do I have to undergo special anti-Dark Lord training or something?"

Chuckling, Dumbledore stood. "I'm afraid Hogwarts doesn't offer any courses like that. Harry, that prophecy was only put into motion because Voldemort _chose_ to give it significance. Had he simply ignored it, Voldemort would not have been defeated when you were a baby, and you would not have the power that protects you from him. You may choose to devote all your days to studying how to defeat Voldemort, or you may choose to ignore what you learned today and simply return to living as you did before. It is up to you. And now I must let you rest, or else Madam Pomfrey will no longer admit me into the hospital wing."

So saying, Dumbledore strode out, leaving Harry to contemplate everything he'd just been told.

So he had a choice then. The Dark Lord or a normal school life.

Harry shrugged, grabbing the large box of Chocolate Cauldrons and digging in. Like there was even a choice.

* * *

><p><em>*"Queenie" was the original name of Daphne Greengrass, and is often used in fanon as her nickname, which I personally like, so Daphne shall be called 'Queenie' by her fellow Slytherins from now on<em>

_**There is no reason I chose this, despite it sounding meaningful (can anyone say Snape/Marauders?)_

_***Why is Harry wearing long-sleeved pyjamas in summer? Because the dungeons are bitching cold, that's why. Slytherins gotta rug up_

_A/N Ah high school, truly thou art a heartless bitch. Social pressures are bad enough without the extra burden of having a psychopathic murderer after your arse. Hang in there Harry!_

_Cookies for who can guess what Harry's decision will be! And please review my Duckies, Rabbit oh so loves to hear what you think, and also, if you have any requests, just ask!_


	9. Buggeration!

_A/N Salome and G'day! Due to my having moved house, then the subsequent crashing of my car into a tree, uni, the Ekka, a complete lack of internet, psychotic elderly relatives, and a zombie mouse, this chapter is extremely late, and I do apologise to my very special reviewer (you know who you are, you charmer, you!) to whom I promised a new chapter within the week of the last. PLEASE FORGIVE MEH!_

_Thank you to all those lovely Duckies who reviewed, it makes me eager to write more. Also, thanks to all of the new favs and alerts, Rabbit loves you too! I can see quite a few Duckies have been paying attention and noticed some crucial plot points –they won't be explained as of yet._

_IMPORTANT NOTICE: This new chapter begins in the Chamber of Secrets timeline and marks the beginning of extensive canon divergence. From now on, many major events will occur differently than they do in the real timeline, so please bear that in mind before any sharp-eyed fans turn away in disgust for my pitiable lack of research or feel the need to point this out to me._

_WARNING: This chapter contains quite a lot of abuse and self-harm: Dobby has finally arrived. Please bear the nature of house-elves in mind – as well as Lucius Malfoy's predisposition to mistreating them – before hitting the review button with accusations that I agree with such behaviour (I don't). Plus, a lot of computer jokes used (no extensive knowledge required!)_

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs not to Rabbit, but to Rowling. And as always, please forgive the uncited canon excerpts and my taking liberties with them._

* * *

><p>Despite there being many noteworthy contenders in the past, in Harry Potter's humble opinion, his twelfth easily took the cake in being <em>the<em> Worst Birthday. And when he said 'cake', he meant it in a purely metaphorical sense, because the very idea of the Dursleys _ever_ giving him something as nice as a cake on any occasion was laughable.

Not that Harry feltlike laughing that day.

In fact, he had been feeling (for obvious reasons: see above) distinctly miserable, and had had every intention of flinging himself onto his bed and having a good sulk when he was interrupted by a very unexpected guest.

Harry did not feel like laughing at the moment. And, taking a departure from the rest of the day, he did not feel miserable, exhausted_ or_ lonely.

Actually, right now he was feeling rather homicidal.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby – Dobby did it for the best..."

Dobby could go shove his good intentions up his arse. "_Have you been stopping my letters?_" Harry's voice was soft – he wasn't so overcome with rage that he'd forgotten about the stupid dinner party downstairs – but it was the deadly hush that came with anger so strong one didn't quite know how to react.

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could just make out Hermione's neat writing from the top of the bundle.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir..."

Harry Potter most definitely _was_ angry. He was currently browsing an internal list of non-magical means of murder. But business before pleasure; he had some 'catching up' to do.

He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Please, Dobby, give me back my friends letters," said Harry with false sweetness.

Dobby raised a long finger. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"Don't you dare blackmail me, Dobby! What I do is none of _your_ business," snarled Harry angrily. "Why should I listen to _you_? I don't even _know_ you! Now give me my friends' letters before I stop playing 'How Should I Kill You?' in my head and just goes with what feels natural."

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir," said the house-elf with a shrug. "Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

"Gee, I wonder why?" said Harry sarcastically, lunging for Dobby.

The elf jumped onto his desk and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Dobby only wants to save Harry Potter's life! Terrible things are to happen at Hogwarts, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter return now that history is to repeat itself. Dark deeds are planned for Hogwarts, but Harry Potter must not be there when they happen. Swear you won't return to Hogwarts!"

"Never," Harry hissed. "Never, ever, _ever_!"

Dobby sighed. "Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open – and sprinted down the stairs.

For the briefest moment, Harry considered just leaving Dobby to his own devices and taking a much needed nap. But then he remembered – the little twat still had all his letters. That and any and all incidents of a peculiar nature would be blamed solely on him. By the people who had all of his magical things locked in a cupboard under the stairs and his owl firmly caged.

Oh, bugger.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six stairs, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, "... tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr Mason, she's been dying to hear..."

Harry crept up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. Dobby was crouched on top of the fridge, looking meaningfully from the pudding to Harry.

"Don't even think about it, Dobby," warned Harry quietly. "Don't even try it."

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school –"

"Dobby, I'm warning you..."

"Say it, sir..."

Grinding his teeth, Harry glanced furtively over his shoulder to listening to the chatter in the dining room. The drone of conversation and clinking of silverware continued – it seemed none of the muggles had noticed anything.

He turned back to Dobby and eyed the floating dessert. This was going to have to be handled very delicately.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry forced himself to smile. "Dobby," he whispered gently, advancing on the fridge with measured steps. "If you put that pudding back right now, I won't be angry. Then we can go back upstairs and have a nice, quiet talk."

Dobby shook his head sadly. "No. Harry Potter must say he's not going back to Hogwarts."

"Fine!" Harry said with a theatrical sigh, eyes fixed on the floating pudding. "If it's really _that _important,I won't go back to Hogwarts. Now, put that back Dobby."

Once again, the house-elf shook his head, his bat-like ears flapping from side to side. "Harry Potter must _swear_ he won't return to Hogwarts. Otherwise, his life will be in grave danger!"

_Play along with the crazy elf, Harry, just play along,_ he chanted in his head. Standing at the base of the fridge, Harry pasted on his best poker face and looked up into Dobby's enormous eyes.

"I _swear_ I won't return to Hogwarts," he said solemnly. Just in case a promise with a house-elf held any magical obligations, Harry crossed his fingers behind his back. "I'll stay here at the Dursleys, so just put the pudding back on the fridge, safe and sound."

Dobby beamed. "Harry Potter is indeed most understanding. Dobby _had_ to do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good." The bowl of sugared violets and cream began to float back towards the fridge.

Harry _might_ have felt bad about lying to the house-elf, if said house-elf hadn't stolen his friends' letters and blackmailed him with dessert. As it were, he was internally chanting the mantra "_He's crazy, but he means well_" to ensure he didn't do anything violent to Dobby. Yet.

However, just when Harry thought he was in the safe zone, Dobby paused atop the fridge with a considering look at the pudding floating directly in front of him. Harry eyed the dessert desperately, wondering if he should chance grabbing for the dish; but it was still up by the ceiling and at least a good few feet away.

"But..." said Dobby slowly, "Dobby must make _sure_; for Harry Potter's safety."

Double bugger.

Harry realised what he was going to do a second too late; he dived forwards as the pudding fell to the floor, but the dish was too far away, crashing to the ground with a resounding bang. Cream splattered the walls and windows as the dish shattered, covering Harry head to foot in Aunt Petunia's pudding.

Twisting around with Quidditch-honed reflexes, Harry lunged for the house-elf with murder in his eyes. There were screams from the dining room.

Harry barely managed to wrap his fingers around Dobby's ankle when he felt it twist away from him* and he redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull, and then –

He gulped great lungfuls of air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realised that the kitchen of number four, Privet Drive had vanished.

He was sprawled on a thick, rich carpet that covered most of the stone floor of what appeared to be a large hallway. It was sumptuously decorated, and while not nearly as large or as grand as that of Hogwarts, the place simply oozed wealth and fine taste.

It was all making Harry feel extremely self-conscious – sitting there on an obviously expensive carpet covered in dirt and cream.

He was brought back to the situation at hand by a very loud, high-pitched squeal. The house elf looked mad, his luminous eyes bulging as he pointed incredulously at Harry.

"Harry Potter, sir!" shrieked Dobby. "This is a most dangerous place, sir; Harry Potter is in grave danger here. He must return to his home at once!"

Dobby attempted to grab him, but Harry slid from his grasp and stood hurriedly. Dancing away from the house-elf's frantic hands, Harry glared. "And where _is_ this exactly?"

Looking around him anxiously, Dobby trembled as he tried to catch hold of Harry. "This is the house belonging to Dobby's family, sir. But Harry Potter must leave at once!"

Harry frowned. The way Dobby told it, he apparently belonged to a family of dark wizards who were total jerks and may or may not also be planning something evil concerning Hogwarts. Then again, Dobby wasn't exactly proving himself to be very trustworthy.

Or _sane_, for that matter.

Nevertheless, he wasn't fond of the idea of being caught in the house of potentially dangerous wizards either. But going home meant facing the Dursleys and explaining that a house-elf had destroyed the pudding and ruined the dinner party.

Which was the lesser evil? Decisions, decisions.

"Dobby must return Harry Potter to his family before –"

The decision was taken out of his hands when a cold voice came from behind him. "What is this?"

Dobby jumped in terror before sinking into a bow so deep his long, thin nose touched the floor.

Pale, pointed face.

White-blonde hair.

Cold grey eyes.

Processing data...

Harry was still in a state of shock after having been magically (and unwillingly) transported by a house-elf whilst he was covered in cream, paint and dirt into a stranger's house, and currently had no idea where he was or who it belonged to – so it was not surprising that his brain was running at only 35%. Nevertheless, his brain could still make an instant conclusion to the stimuli present.

"Draco!" shouted Harry with relief.

More incoming data...

Loading...

Person is clearly an adult, longer hair, voice sounds different.

Reconfiguring results...

Conclusion – _not_ Draco.

"Uh, wait, sorry–" Harry stammered.

Cognitive functions: 47%

Communication error.

Raising a pale eyebrow, the wizard eyed Harry from head to toe. "That is indeed my son's name, but does little in the way of explaining why there is a strange boy trespassing in my house."

_Buggeration_, Harry cursed inwardly. _Think brain, think!_

Cognitive functions: 61%

Searching...

Complete!

Findings: Ignoring the insinuation that he was a burglar, this wasn't half bad. Of all places he could have been, he had somehow ended up in Draco's house. Maybe his birthday wouldn't be a _total_ mess.

"Sorry, Mr Malfoy, there's been a mistake," said Harry, trying hard not to smile – the older wizard didn't look like he'd appreciate anything but absolute terror from him right then. "It was an accident that I came here... Er, it's nice to meet you, sir," said Harry rather sheepishly. "My name's Harry Potter, sir, I'm a friend of Draco's."

Trying to mask his sudden embarrassment at meeting his best friend's father as he was, he bowed. A dollop of cream slid from his nose onto the plush carpet. He winced.

Mr Malfoy blinked slowly. "_Harry Potter?_" he repeated, incredulous. "But... _how..._?"

_Finally_, something to take the attention off of the fact he was dripping all over the Malfoys' nice carpet. Harry nodded at Dobby.

"Dobby was at my house; he was trying to blackmail me," Harry explained, trying to ignore the house-elf when he began to whimper loudly. "He smashed my aunt's pudding and then I grabbed him and was suddenly here."

Dobby gave a choked sob, but Harry had no pity left for him after the pudding fiasco – plus he'd begun to ramble. Clearly, his brain had yet to regain control of his mouth. "He got me into a right lot of trouble with my uncle with all the noise he was making in my room. _And_ he ruined the special dessert my aunt made for tonight's dinner party. Cream all over the kitchen! All because _he_ didn't want me going back to Hogwarts. Apparently, something bad is going to happen or something, and Dobby wanted to 'save' me."

"What?" Mr Malfoy said sharply, jerking his head to Dobby, who was shaking from head to toe, twisting his ears in punishment. "Is that true, servant?"

Dobby trembled violently, glancing at Harry in terror, before he burst into tears and nodded.

Immediately, he flung himself back onto the ground, bashing his head violently onto the carpeted floor with dull thumps. Even though he was furious with the house-elf, Harry winced in sympathy at the horrible sounds of Dobby punishing himself. At least the thick carpet helped absorb the impact.

"Enough!" snapped Mr Malfoy, eyeing Dobby with disgust. "Explain yourself."

Dobby let out an ear-splitting wail and struck his head on the ground with such force that he ricocheted backwards. Lying sprawled on his back; he raised his fists and began furiously hitting himself with loud yelps.

Sharing a baffled look, Harry and Mr Malfoy watched this outburst as Dobby's wails grew steadily louder. Finally, Mr Malfoy had had enough. "Stop that at once, Dobby!"

Like a switch had been turned off, Dobby immediately finished striking himself and curled into a ball, rocking himself back and forth as tears streamed down his face and onto his filthy pillowcase.

Mr Malfoy frowned down at the house-elf, grey eyes speculative as Dobby sobbed into his knees. Harry was utterly bemused at his antics.

"It seems," said Mr Malfoy at last, looking at Dobby with revulsion. "That either you cannot explain yourself without breaking house-elf laws, or you simply wish not to. Whatever the reason, I shall deal with you later."

He turned on Harry, and eyed the mess on the carpet. With a flick of his wand, both the carpet and Harry had been cleaned of pudding.

Looking happier now that the cream assaulting his hallway was gone, Mr Malfoy nodded his head at Harry. "Though we meet at last, Harry Potter, it is in less than pleasing circumstances. Draco has told me much about you, and has previously extended multiple invitations for you to visit us during the holidays. Although, as of late, we have been under the impression that perhaps you did not want to associate with us; your lack of correspondence –"

"Um, about that," Harry interrupted hurriedly, "I haven't been receiving my mail, so I had no idea Draco had invited me."

Mr Malfoy frowned at this. "Really? Because all of the owls he sent came back without the letters, as they would have done had you not been able to receive them."

"Er, well..."

Harry stopped, unsure how to continue. He didn't _really_ want to get Dobby into trouble, but it was the house-elf's own fault that all this had happened in the first place. Besides that, shouldn't Mr Malfoy know that his employee had been going directly against his wishes, even though it was a house-elf's duty to obey their family until they die or were set free? And Harry wasn't about to lie to his friend's father just to save a house-elf who just before had been ruthlessly blackmailing him.

"I wasn't getting my letters because your house-elf was stopping them," Harry said with a sigh. "I only found out tonight when Dobby showed up in my house."

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrowed with fury as he swung around to face Dobby. "_Explain –Now!_" he hissed with such venom that Dobby actually jerked back, eyes wide with terror.

Dobby glanced from his master to Harry and back, tears leaking from his eyes once more. Then he seemed to come to some kind of decision, uncurling himself to stand unsteadily before he pulled the thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing, looking up at Mr Malfoy with something very close to loathing.

"Dobby did it for Harry Potter's sake!" said Dobby defensively, turning his large eyes to Harry. "Now that evil things are being planned for Hogwarts, he mustn't return, but now! Now it is too late! If only Harry Potter knew what he means to us, the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Harry Potter, who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named and ended his reign of terror, shines likes a beacon of hope for those of us who –"

Harry couldn't believe this. "By trying to ruin my life, you thought you were _helping _me?" Harry snapped, ignoring Dobby's flinch. "Thanks a lot, Dobby, but I'd rather you keep your nose out of my business. And I really don't appreciate you implying that Draco or Mr Malfoy or whoever is trying to kill me."

Instead of looking ashamed, Dobby eyed Harry with a pitying gaze. "Harry Potter is too kind, too young, to possibly know of the terrible deeds once committed –"

There was a loud bang and a squeal of pain. Mr Malfoy looked livid. "Silence, Dobby! _Accio Harry's letters,_" he said coldly, flicking his wand.

The bundle of envelops flew from Dobby's grasp into Mr Malfoy's hands, who passed them to Harry without taking his eyes from the house-elf. "Forgive the dismissal, Mr Potter" said Mr Malfoy with tight-lipped anger. "But I must... deal with Dobby right now."

Harry glanced at the house-elf crumpled on the floor with concern, but Dobby was beyond his help now. "Er, that's okay, Mr Malfoy. Um..."

"Draco is in the drawing room down the hall and to your right; the door's open, so you should be able to find it by yourself" said Mr Malfoy dismissively. "I'll be along shortly after I've sorted this... mess out."

"Thank you, sir" Harry said with a nervous bow. He made his way past Mr Malfoy, only to pause, glancing over his shoulder.

Dobby's tearful green eyes were fixed on him as he frantically shook his head; mouth opening and closing noiselessly like a fish. For a moment, Harry felt a brief spasm of pity. But then it passed. He had caused Harry nothing but trouble.

"Bye, Dobby," he muttered and turned down the hallway.

He had a feeling that this would be the last he saw of Dobby the house-elf.

Clutching his letters, Harry made his way down the hall, the many Malfoy portraits on the walls scowling down at him as he went past. On the right, a door stood open, bright light pouring from within along with a drawling voice that Harry had desperately missed. With a smile, Harry stepped into the drawing room.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad twelfth birthday after all.

* * *

><p>Madam Gidgeon was slowly but surely killing Harry.<p>

She would not stop pinching his cheeks and simpering at him, plus, she was painfully melodramatic, lamenting over him in increasingly flowery language. When she remarked on Harry's striking resemblance to her old dog Lynus**, Draco nosedived into a brocade cushion to stifle his laughter.

No matter what anyone said, Harry was sure he would die of embarrassment, trapped on a Chesterfield with a witch more difficult than his Potions homework.

"Poor lamb," crooned Madam Gidgeon, patting Harry's throbbing cheek. "And on your birthday, no less. It's a right shame we had to modify those muggles' memories; they will be a bit foggy about tonight, but we simply can't take chances these days. But for all this to happen right in the middle of your lovely birthday dinner, you must be _devastated_."

"Yes, 'devastated'" Harry said through clenched teeth.

Having resurfaced, Draco took the opportunity to worsen Harry's predicament. "You're so _strong_, Harry, to be able to keep a brave face through all this," he simpered.

Madam Gidgeon took his sarcasm for sympathy and nodded happily, lavishing him with exaggerated praise over his unrelenting courage. Mercifully, Mrs Malfoy had finally had enough.

"Are you nearly done with the interrogation, Madam Gidgeon?" she asked coolly. "It's getting rather late, and the boys have had a tiring day."

"Is that the time already?" exclaimed the ministry witch. "Oh dear, I've gotten quite carried away, haven't I? Yes, I think that's everything. And don't worry poppet," she smiled at Harry, "This is all just for the official report. You know, '_procedure_'. Eyewitness testimonies are required for magical creature incarceration these days, can you believe it! You can't even _think_ about executing a manticore without the proper paperwork, honestly, what's the world coming to?"

"Is that _all_, Madam?" cut in Mrs Malfoy coldly.

"Yes, that'll be all I need," Madam Gidgeon said briskly as she gathered her papers. "Unless you'd like to add anything, dear?"

She glanced inquiringly at Harry, who hastily shook his head. The sooner the ministry witch was gone the better.

"I'll show you out then," Mrs Malfoy said shortly, leaving no room for argument from the short witch.

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I hope you two enjoy the rest of your holidays," Madam Gidgeon said, giving Harry's face a final pinch.

Behind her retreating back, Draco puffed his cheeks at Harry, who scowled as his own cheeks gave a painful throb. As soon as the door closed behind the two women, Draco leapt from the canapé and sat beside Harry.

"Do you need anything else, poppet?" he asked anxiously, clutching Harry's hand. "Something to eat? You're far too skinny; I'll bet it's because you didn't get to finish your birthday dinner, poor lamb."

"Shove off, Draco!" snapped Harry, pulling his hand free.

Draco collapsed into laughter once more as Harry blushed scarlet. The entire experience had been absolutely mortifying enough without Draco and his mother having to bear witness to it all. He'd been hoping that his first meeting with Draco's parents would have been – well, different from this anyway. Accidently landing in their hallway covered in cream with a criminal house-elf was just about _the_ worst first impression _ever_.

Harry wasn't sure what was worse: the Ministry of Magic having to investigate the Malfoys because of him or his showing up wearing hand-me-down muggle clothes ten sizes too big for him.

Mrs Malfoy returned alone; immediately Harry straightened his back and gave a futile pat to his rebellious hair. Draco sniggered.

For the first time since Harry's impromptu arrival, Mrs Malfoy smiled. Harry silently thought it made her look quite a deal more attractive. "How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked, the haughty tone from the past few hours now gone.

"I'm fine, Mrs Malfoy, thanks," he stammered.

She sighed, sitting on the canapé Draco had just vacated. "I apologise for all that, she said, waving a hand at the door. "But the Ministry is forever wasting people's valuable time with their politics. Honestly, that woman had no sense of decorum whatsoever."

"Who didn't?" asked Mr Malfoy as he strode into the drawing room.

"The Ministry employee who just left," his wife replied. "The way she was treating Harry was appalling; it was if he was two years old, not twelve. No respect at all."

Mr Malfoy poured himself a glass of firewhisky. "Muggleborn, no doubt," he said with a sneer. "The Ministry is crawling with them these days. Not brought up with proper wizarding values, is it any wonder the world's in this sorry state?"

Harry shot his friend a look.

"Father?" asked Draco with a tiny smirk. "What did the Ministry decide to do with Dobby?"

Mr Malfoy gave a careless shrug as he sunk down next to his wife. "That elf has broken too many laws; the Department of Magical Creatures have taken him into custody. He's no longer my problem anyway; I've already disowned him. Cost me a perfectly good glove, but there you go."

Harry squirmed guilty. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to cause all this trouble for you."

"There's no need to blame yourself, Harry," said Mr Malfoy with a frown. "A wizard should never take responsibility for the actions of a lesser magical creature, particularly not that of a _house-elf . _They're meant to _serve_ wizards; what Dobby did was against his very nature, he was obviously very disturbed."

"But because of me, you no longer have a house-elf," argued Harry.

"Thank goodness for that!" exclaimed Mrs Malfoy. "I'm glad that elf was revealed as a lunatic before her ended up poisoning our tea. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Besides, we can easily obtain a new house-elf."

"But –"

"Honestly, Harry," said Draco, "Stop being such a martyr, you don't need to take the blame for everything, just a little bit is fine."

Harry smiled weakly. "Am I allowed the mess on the carpet?"

"Yes, that one's all yours. How dare you get your birthday dessert all over our rug, it's from Istanbul, you know."

"Birthday dessert?" Harry frowned. "As if the Dursleys would celebrate _my_ birthday. They'd sooner eat gravel. That was for some stupid business deal of my uncles about drills –"

Mr Malfoy immediately straightened in his chair. "Ah, you're talking about your _muggles_," he sneered. "Draco's told me about your – ah... 'relatives'".

"Please don't remind me that I actually share blood with them," said Harry with a wince.

Surprised by his disdain, Mr Malfoy leant forwards. "But you were raised by these muggles, were you not? Draco told me you were not even aware of your magical heritage until your Hogwarts letter arrived."

Harry scowled in remembrance. His uncle had prevented him from getting the multitudes of letters sent to him last year, and now Dobby had done more or less the same thing. What was it with everyone stopping his mail?

"Yeah, I didn't know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday" said Harry ruefully. "My aunt and uncle really hate magic; I'm not even allowed to say 'magic' or 'wizard' or anything like that at home."

Mrs Malfoy gave a scandalised gasp, her hand over her heart. "The very though!" she exclaimed. "Lucius, really, he can't be expected to go back to those – those _animals_!"

Mr Malfoy nodded absently, his expression furious. "Filthy _scum_," he hissed darkly. "To dare treat a wizard like... like _that_! The arrogant little insects."

Draco perked up. "Can Harry stay with us then, Father?"

Harry looked up hopefully. Shaking his head distractedly, Mr Malfoy focused on the pair, frowning slightly. "Well..." he said slowly.

Mrs Malfoy rolled her eyes. "Don't tease them, love" she chided.

Smirking, Mr Malfoy dipped his head. Draco whooped happily, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him from the room. "You can have the guest room next to mine," said Draco. "Just like at Hogwarts."

"Awesome," Harry grinned dopily, unable to believe his luck.

"Good night, boys!" Mrs Malfoy called after them.

Excited incoherent shouts answered her from the hallway.

* * *

><p><em>*I am aware that elf apparation is different than wizards' and they can disappear without taking someone else along accidently, but for the sake of storytelling, let's pretend it isn't any different.<em>

_**A cookie to who knows what that's a reference to._

_A/N Gladys Gidgeon is a name mentioned in CoS, I just used it for my purposes. And that's another chapter done and done. Not exactly the best or most exciting, but things will be picking up in the next chap. As always, please review and let me know your thoughts or any requests you have and I'll be happy to oblige. And remember, Rabbit loves you._

_Preview of next chapter:_

"_What does it matter to _you_ where Harry's been?" snarled Ron. "Gotta always have tabs on him, do you?"_

_Draco sneered, drawing himself up to his full height (he was still shorter than Ron). "Well, seeing as he's staying _atmy house_, I suppose it does matter. And if he's going to suddenly make the front page without warning, I think it's even more my problem."_

"_Leave him alone, Harry didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy._

"_Look Harry, you've got yourself another ginger fan!" drawled Draco. "You sure do attract the thick ones, don't you?"_

"_That's it!"_

_With a roar, Ron flung himself at Draco._


	10. Plan Deal and Get Over It!

_A/N WEASLEY VS. MALFOY Round 3! Who will win in this battle of brains versus brawn, rich versus poor, ginger versus not ginger?_

_Hello again, it's Rabbit with a longer than usual update, because I wasn't too happy with the last chapter and simply had to redeem myself. Harry seemed a bit OOC in my opinion, so I'm trying to get him a bit more on track. Let's just pretend he was a tad overwhelmed and more than a bit angsty over his crappy holidays, which is why he took it out on Dobby. I'm actually surprised there was so many favs and alerts added after last chapter, I think it was my worst yet._

_Warning: For people who don't like movie canon, suck it up because I'm going with the movies version in some bits, and I like the sexy actors. And there's canon. Lots of canon._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter clearly belongs to me, despite being first published when I was five. Hey, it's possible._

* * *

><p>Life at Malfoy Manor was as different as possible from life in Privet Drive. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the guestroom mantelpiece and it shouted <em>"Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!"<em> A wrong turn on the way to the dining room had Harry stumbling into a hidden trapdoor that led to a cellar beneath the house, and was only released when Mrs. Malfoy heard his shouts from the drawing room. The grounds surrounding the Manor were extensive, with the gardens home to a variety of magical and mundane plants, including a large Venomous Tentacula – Harry and Draco had watched, sniggering, when it managed to snag a passing albino peacock and Mr. Malfoy shouted himself hoarse at the plant, which was bulging slightly at the base. What Harry found most unusual about life at Draco's, however, wasn't the talking mirrors or trapdoors: it was the fact that the Malfoys seemed to genuinely like him.

Despite his impromptu arrival, Draco's parents appeared delighted to have him stay with them. Harry had been concerned that they would be put off by his obviously muggle upbringing and magical ignorance, but surprisingly, they were happy to go out of their way to educate him on life in the wizarding world. While Mrs. Malfoy was clearly influenced by her unexpectedly strong maternal nature, Harry suspected Mr Malfoy was helping him mostly because he simply could not stand anything muggle related and would not be happy until Harry acted like a proper wizard should.

Harry didn't have long to feel too guilty about losing the Malfoys their house-elf when Mrs. Malfoy managed to acquire a new one the very next day (when he asked her how she managed it so quickly, she replied: "Money"), a tiny little female named Posey, who was ecstatic at having her very own family after working at a castle in Ireland with thirty others. She had been only too happy to get Harry's things from Privet Drive, to which he was eternally grateful – left any longer, he would have been forced to ask Mr. Malfoy, and that was an encounter he wasn't sure should _ever_ occur.

But despite now having access to his trunk and wand, Harry only had his Hogwarts robes in the way of wizard clothes, which was fine until Mrs Malfoy declared that she could no longer bear seeing him in muggle clothes – or Mr Malfoy's grimacing at the sight of them – and took Harry and Draco shopping.

Harry had been excited about going to Diagon Alley, but Draco had gloomily informed him that they wouldn't be seeing much of it if they were clothes shopping; and indeed, as soon as they arrived, Mrs Malfoy dragged them into Twilfit and Tattings where Harry was forced to spend hours trying on robes of various colours and styles. The rather flamboyant salesman seemed determined to dress Harry in outrageous choices such as mustard yellow and metallic purple, too Draco's endless amusement as he snidely offered ridiculous suggestions.

A chance for revenge finally came when Mrs. Malfoy decided Draco should get some new robes as well. Harry quietly informed the salesman that Draco was extremely self-conscious about his appearance and really wanted to look 'avant-garde', but his favourite colour was brown and that he couldn't bear wearing anything that was only one colour. Delighted by the challenge, the salesman draped Draco in striped and polka-dot numbers, who ended up yelling at Harry when the salesman refused to listen to his protests and kept insisting that he looked 'fabulous!'

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after his birthday. He was feeling quite proud as he made his way down to breakfast wearing one of his brand new robes, beaming when Mr Malfoy eyed his clothing with a pleased smile.

"Morning!" he greeted the table happily. Mrs Malfoy frowned and caught him as he walked past to run a hand through his unruly hair, which as always refused to lie flat.

"Merlin, what are _you_ so chipper about?" growled Draco as Harry took his seat opposite him, trying to pat down his hair.

"Happy to be alive, Draco, happy to be alive," Harry sang loudly, smirking when Draco groaned.

"Pipe down scar-head," Draco muttered at his toast, "It's too early to be happy."

Harry's smirk only widened. "But Draco, it's such a lovely morning!" he half-shouted. "ISN'T IT A LOVELY MORNING, MRS. MALFOY?"

Laughing, he ducked as Draco hurled his half eaten toast at him. Mr. Malfoy glanced up with a reprimanding frown, and Harry mumbled his apology, mouth still twitching with glee.

Mrs. Malfoy sighed fondly, calling for Posey to clean up.

"Honestly, Draco, you are utterly uncouth this morning," she scolded slightly as Posey arrived with a _crack!_ Harry sniggered when Draco flinched at the sound.

"It's not my fault, I just _hate_ mornings," whined Draco. "Mornings just shouldn't exist; everybody should all simply get up at midday instead of this ridiculous hour."

"Early wakers are gold makers, Draco," said Mr Malfoy over his newspaper.

Draco pouted but said no more, stabbing his eggs sulkily.

Posey returned with two letters in hand. "Hogwarts letters for Young Master Malfoy and Mr. Potter" she squeaked tremulously, bobbing a strange cross between and curtsy and bow.

Harry almost thanked her before he caught himself; unlike Dobby, Posey did not appreciate any politeness for her services, something Mr. Malfoy coldly informed him was to be expected. Harry knew better than to continue trying, he swore he was still half-deaf from the tiny elf's ashamed high-pitch wails.

Draco frowned blearily at his book list. "Hold on, what's with all the Lockhart books?" he asked. "Surely our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher won't actually be expecting us to read that drivel!"

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Guess that means it's not going to be Professor Snape then."

Mr. Malfoy frowned at that. "So it would seem. But he did apply for the job this year; in fact, he was one of the few who did. How he would have been overlooked is – oh, but of course. I'm sure this is Dumbledore's doing. That man has been denying Severus that position for nearly eleven years."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Really? Do you know why that is?"

The older Malfoy shrugged, folding his paper. "I've long been of the opinion that Dumbledore's no good for Hogwarts – I've tried getting him removed before, but the other school governors won't budge. _They_ all think that incompetent old fool is absolutely wonderful. Hah! Muggle-lovers like him and that Arthur Weasley are just disgraces to the name of wizard."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of Ron's father, who Mr. Malfoy seemed to hold in particular contempt, especially in the face of Mr. Weasley's proposed Muggle Protection Act.

"Mum," said Draco abruptly, bored with the current conversation. "Now we've got our book lists, we need to go to Diagon Alley, right? Can we go next Wednesday; some of our friends are going to be there that day."

"Not on Wednesday, love, I'm having tea with Elladora," said Mrs Malfoy.

"I'll take the boys, Narcissa," said Mr Malfoy. "I've got some business to attend to at Borgin and Burkes."

"Thank you, Father!" said Draco with a grin, Harry quietly adding his own thanks with a quizzical glance at the other boy. Since when were they meeting anyone at Diagon Alley?

"Not a problem, boys," said Mr Malfoy. "Well then, I'd best be off, I have business at the Ministry. What are you two planning to do today?"

"Quidditch!" chimed Draco and Harry together.

"I'm practising for tryouts," said Draco proudly.

Mrs. Malfoy immediately frowned worriedly. "Be _careful_ though, won't you? I don't want any accidents."

Draco immediately puffed up. "I'll be _fine_ Mother, it's only for Seeker; Harry won't be throwing rocks at me or anything."

"Can't make any promises though," Harry muttered, hiding a grin at Draco's warning look.

"But Seeker is the most dangerous position, isn't it?" said Mrs. Malfoy fretfully.

"Not at all, Mrs. Malfoy," assured Harry, grinning wickedly at Draco. "I mean, they are often the most targeted, seeing as they can end the game and all, but as long as they're fast enough, they don't end up injured _too_ often."

"Harry's just kidding, Mother," Draco jumped in as Mrs. Malfoy looked horrified. "Kidding."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Malfoy, I'll be sure to look after Draco," Harry conceded at her frantic look. "I'll teach him how to be a _good_ flyer, so he won't get hurt."

Mrs. Malfoy seemed slightly mollified, but Draco scowled at the veiled insult.

"Just you wait till we're in the air, Potter," Draco hissed. "Then I'll show you what I'm made of."

"Don't fall off then," said Harry wickedly. "Or I really _will_ see what you're made of, inside _and_ out."

"HARRY!" shouted Draco at Mrs. Malfoy's horrified scream.

* * *

><p>Harry moaned happily, licking the creamy substance from his lips before continuing.<p>

"Enjoying yourself, huh lad," said the wizard, smirking down at Harry.

Mouth otherwise occupied, Harry hummed his pleasure as he closed his eyes in bliss, sweet liquid coating his tongue. The older wizard chuckled at his shameless display, pleased that his goods were being so thoroughly enjoyed by _the_ Harry Potter.

Swallowing noisily, Harry smiled up at the wizard.

"This is the best Ice-Chocolate ever!"

"Just for that, it's on the house!" beamed Mr Fortescue, moving back into his shop as a young couple wandered over to peer at the ice-cream selection.

Harry was sucking hard on his straw – it had become clogged with ice-cream – when a pair of hands suddenly clapped down on his shoulders.

"Argh!"

The clogged ice-cream came whizzing up the straw and into his nostrils at his surprised yell. Harry choked and toppled off his chair. Laughing, the owner of the hands hoisted Harry back to his feet.

Ron Weasley sniggered, throwing himself into a chair at Harry's shaded table. The other two chairs were already occupied by Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, who were wearing identical grins.

"Scared you, little serpent?" George asked innocently as Harry blew his nose with a napkin, the ice-cream freezing his sinuses.

"Gits," said Harry without heat. The Weasley twins snickered.

Ron chuckled. "Alright then, Harry?"

Free of ice-cream, Harry finally focused on the others boys. "Hey! I'm glad you guys could make it."

"You offered to buy me ice-cream," reminded Ron playfully. "That's the only reason I'm here."

"Yeah," said Fred, smirking. "Otherwise there's no way we'd _ever_ associate with you, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. How you wounded ickle Ronnikins last year, you heartless beast you!"

"That's why I'm buying him an apology ice-cream!" defended Harry. "I'm a Slytherin, I _have_ to buy your forgiveness, it's the _only_ way!"

George laughed. "Seriously, Harry, you don't make for a convincing Slytherin at all, no matter how much that Lucius Malfoy may have taught you about pureblood politics."

Harry pouted. "And here I thought I was really getting the hang of it."

"Speaking of Slytherins, where's ferret-face?" asked Ron, peering around suspiciously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "_Draco_ is off with his dad, we're meeting up later."

"How come? He's normally attached to the hip with you."

"I may or may not have totally trounced Draco during Quidditch practice, so he's throwing a tantrum. Mr Malfoy's going to take him to look at racing brooms later on, so hopefully he'll be in a better mood after that."

Ron didn't bother to hide his glee. "Excellent! I knew that git wasn't as big a hot shot as he claimed. Hope he takes ages, I really don't want to run into that rotten little–"

"No bad mouthing whilst in my presence please," said Harry loudly, grinning when Ron heaved a theatrical sigh.

"You said I was free to hate Malfoy to my heart's content."

"Yeah, but he's still my friend. If you must insult him, do it to his face and not to me, otherwise he'll get all prickly that you were talking smack about him to me behind his back, confirming his worst fears."

"This go both ways or does Draco dearest get special privileges?"

"Fair's fair, but Draco doesn't know about The Arrangement* yet. Call me a coward, but I thought I'll wait until the last possible moment before letting that particular bomb drop. Ignorance is bliss and all that."

Harry reached to take another slurp of his drink only to find that while he and Ron had been talking, the twins had polished it off.

"That's our apology ice-cream for your snubbing us last term," explained Fred at Harry's glare.

"We were heartbroken, Harry," said George, spooning out the last dregs of chocolate syrup. "Completely devastated, we were."

"Could barely sleep at night," said Fred, burping.

Harry groaned as Ron sniggered. None of the Weasley boys seemed to have retained any bitter feelings concerning the events of the previous years; even Ron, who had even sent Harry a letter after he started staying with the Malfoys (Mr Weasley worked for the Ministry and had told his sons all about the house-elf incident). Harry had, after a great deal of consideration and a minor argument with himself in the bathroom mirror, replied to Ron's letter with an offer of friendship and a contrite apology – all without a word to Draco, of course – after which the two had kept up a correspondence and decided to give being friends another try.

While he was still nervous about choosing to rekindle his friendship with the Gryffindors, Harry was now confident enough in his standing with Draco that he was sure he wouldn't _lose_ his blond friend over it (though many tantrums would be had), but boundaries would have to be set if he wanted to maintain both relationships. Besides, it was the holidays, which in Harry's opinion meant anyone was fair game. Inter-house rivalries were reserved for school.

Suddenly, Harry remembered something. "Wait a minute, where are your parents? Surely they would know better than to let you come here _alone_."

Fred chuckled. "As if. Mum would never allow us to wander Diagon Alley without her close by."

"She's with Ginny," George elaborated. "Our dear baby sister is starting Hogwarts, so Mum told us to bugger off while she went to get all of her things. Has Ron told you about your little fan?"

"Don't start on that," warned Harry, embarrassed. He wasn't keen on letting them start into _that_ subject whilst face to face, letters were humiliating enough.

Fred and George looked like they were about to do just that when a voice called out to them.

"There you boys are!" said Mr Weasley, winding over to their table in front of the ice-cream parlour. Harry had never seen Ron's father before, and eyed the newcomer curiously. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes which looked quite travel-worn. Despite all of Mr Malfoy's long disgusted rants on Mr Weasley's love of all things muggle, Harry decided that he quite liked the Weasley patriarch, smiling up at the wizard.

"Ah, and this must be the one and only Harry Potter," said Mr Weasley, shaking hands. "Very pleased to meet you. Ron's told us so much about you."

Harry blushed. Hopefully he hadn't told his parents _all_ about him, what with all the snubbing that had gone on. "It's nice to meet you too, sir," said Harry politely, turning on the charm just in case. "Ron's told me you're a bit of a muggle expert."

"Well," said Mr Weasley, preening. "I don't know about _expert_."

Behind their father's back, the twins mimed vomiting, Ron struggling to keep a straight face as Mr Weasley beamed.

"Harry! Harry!"

Turning at the sound of his name, he spotted Hermione Granger weaving down the crowded street towards them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her as she ran.

"Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you again; I've been missing everyone all holidays! I've only just got here... well, I've already been to Gringotts, had to exchange my money, but my parents just left**. Is Draco here?"

"His dad had some business, but we're meeting up later," Harry said, glancing at the Weasleys nervously. Hermione blinked in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was interrupting..."

Mr Weasley smiled genially. "Not at all. It's always nice to meet friends of Ron's. Well, I'm just popping into the Leaky Cauldron, Daisy Hookum*** said she wanted a word about 'telly-fissions'." He glanced at his sons. "Meet back at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books. And no going into Knockturn Alley."

As Mr Weasley set off, Fred and George also said their goodbyes, having spotted their friend, Lee Jordan.

Suddenly, it was just the three of them left, and Harry had never felt more uncomfortable. While Hermione had never seemed too concerned about house rivalries, she at least knew that Ron and Draco were bitter rivals, and in the past had warned Harry about pursuing a friendship with the red-head. But this was the holidays, and as far as Harry was concerned, that meant he could befriend whoever he liked, no matter what Hermione thought.

Unfortunately, Hermione was already eying Ron shrewdly. Damn it! Time for some drastic intervention.

"Um, Hermione, you remember Ron Weasley right? From school?" Harry said brightly. It sounded pathetic even to his ears.

"Not really," she said coolly, clearly indicating that she did indeed remember their previous encounters.

Harry winced. Damn, he really needed Hermione with him on this one. "Well, me and Ron have been owling each other over the holidays, so I suggested we meet up at Diagon Alley and hang out together. You don't mind if he tags along with us, do you?"

"Why would I mind?" Hermione said in a way that suggested she would very much mind.

"Well, er, I know Gryffindors and Slytherins don't really get along well on principle, but I'm not asking you to be Ron's friend, just be civil, yeah?"

Ron snorted. "A civil Slytherin? Sorry mate, but apart from you, all of them totally hate our guts."

Hermione immediately bristled. "Excuse me? I most certainly am not so petty as to be prejudiced against a person simply because of their Hogwarts house."

"So then, you have something against me personally!" accused Ron snidely.

"I don't even know you, why would I have something against you alone?" Hermione said defensively.

"So you don't judge based on house, and you don't hate me as an individual?" Ron surmised.

"That's right!" snapped Hermione.

Ron beamed. "Good! So then there's no reason why you and I can't get along."

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it, frowning at the unexpected argument.

Grinning, Harry stood and patted his pocket full of money. "Don't worry about it too much, Hermione. Come on, I owe you guys an ice-cream."

That got the girl's attention. "Harry, you just had an ice-chocolate!" she chastised.

"Yeah, but it's hot and I have no adult supervision to tell me otherwise. Hey, Mr Fortescue!"

The wizard grinned toothily over the counter at them. "Getting more, are ye lad?"

Despite Hermione's grumbling about cavities (both her parents were dentists), Harry bought three large strawberry and peanut-butter ice-creams which they slurped happily as they wandered up the Alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. As per Harry's predictions, once moving with an appropriate bribe in her hands, Hermione seemed a little more relaxed. However, it was clear that she still disapproved to Ron, and when he stopped to stare longingly into the window of 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' at a full set of Chudley Cannons robes, her expression became glacial. Sensing imminent disaster, Harry steered them into the shop next door to buy ink and parchment, suitably distracting Hermione from exploding.

Perhaps due to Harry's warning about Hermione's reaction to their hanging out, Ron didn't seem too ruffled by her ongoing coldness towards him. Rather he found her antics mildly amusing, and seemed bent on harassing her however possible, teasing her as much as Harry would allow him to and laughing whenever his 'attempts at bonding' with her crashed and burned. Harry was keeping a firm lookout for Draco, in the hopes that a potential encounter outside of school and with several carefully re-rehearsed scenarios whirling in his head, Harry could get Draco and Ron to come to some kind of truce. However, whenever the blond had gone off to, it apparently wasn't anywhere in Diagon Alley.

An hour later and no Malfoys in sight, the trio headed for Flourish and Blotts to get their school books. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop, with a large crowd already jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed on a large banner in the upper windows: GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography ''MAGICAL ME'' today 12.30 - 4.30 pm.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole book list."

Harry and Ron shared an unimpressed look as they squeezed inside. A long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing books. Ron beckoned them and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasley family were already standing. Harry smiled when he recognized Ron's mother, a short, plump, kind-faced woman.

"Oh, there you are Ron," said Mrs Weasley breathlessly, patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute. Did you manage to meet up with - Oh, hello dear." She beamed at Harry, who smiled back just as warmly. He'd always had a bit of a soft spot for Mrs Weasley, not only for helping him the first time he caught the Hogwarts Express, but also for the lovely (and entirely unexpected) knitted woollen jumper she'd made him for Christmas the previous year.

"How are you, Mrs Weasley?"

"Fine, Harry dear, quite fine. Oh, another friend of yours?"

"Hello, Ma'am," said Hermione, all polite smiles.

"This is Hermione Granger," said Ron eagerly, smiling innocently when she sent him a suspicious glare.

"Lovely to meet you, dear," said Mrs Weasley amicably, totally oblivious to the silent exchange.

A small, red head was peering around Mrs Weasley, large brown eyes fixed on Harry. He caught Fred's eye behind them; the older boys winked, puckered his lips and mimed kissing. Harry frowned in understanding.

"So, you must be Ginny," he said to what little he could see of the girl. He'd heard tell of her apparent crush via Ron's letters.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair and ducked her head, slipping away through the crowd. Ron shook his head in exasperation.

Suddenly, Hermione grabbed Harry's sleeve excitedly. "There he is now!" she squealed, pointing down the line.

Gilderoy Lockhart was seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzling white teeth at the crowd. A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet."

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron - and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

Buggeration. Harry turned to make a run for it but Lockhart dived forwards, seized Harry's arm and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

Harry really wished he was allowed to do magic outside of school so he good escape this embarrassment. When Lockhart finally let go of Harry's hand, he could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

As Lockhart began to loudly address the crowd, Harry felt his face grow hotter and hotter. He'd been so sure no one would recognize him today - he'd made sure to flatten his fringe carefully over his scar before leaving that morning and had warned both Ron and Hermione not to use his full or last name lest they attract attention. He could still remember the kerfuffle made over him on his previous visit to Diagon Alley and had not been eager to have any repeats - particularly when he was in the middle of implementing Plan Deal and Get Over It with his Gryffindor and Slytherin friends. And now he was going to end up in the bloody paper! On the front page, no less. Oh, the shame! Draco would never let him hear the end of this.

"- be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Wait, what? No! No, not this guy! Merlin, how was he going to survive with someone like that all year? The crowd was cheering and clapping as Harry suddenly found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Relieved to be free at last, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

"You have these," Harry said to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own -"

"Having fun there, Harry?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up to find himself face to face with Draco, who was smirking at him. "You looked like you were, the way you were acting up there. Regular little diva already, aren't you."

"Learnt from the best," Harry said sarcastically. "I'm totally skilled with handling the fans now after being around you so much."

"Yes, I can see that," Draco sneered down at the smallest Weasley watching them nervously. "Got yourself a little girlfriend in the span of a few hours. Though I can't say much for your taste."

Ginny flushed as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Draco as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see me with Harry, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Draco. Harry tensed. Oh no, maybe he should have discussed Plan Deal and Get Over It with Draco beforehand. Preferably before he said anything stupid and insulting like - "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot."

Ron went scarlet as Harry groaned in annoyance. Dropping his books into the cauldron too, Ron angrily clenched his fists, but Harry threw out an arm before the red-head could attack. This action didn't go unnoticed by Draco, who's upper lip curled, the first sign of an oncoming tantrum.

"But the blood traitor has a good point," he said with a scowl, eying Harry. "Whatever are you doing here with him? Has that what you've been doing all day, hanging out with this flea-bitten Weasel?"

"Hah! What? Does it matter to you if Harry's been hanging with me?" snarled Ron before Harry could reply. "Or is that why you always gotta have tabs on him, in case he runs off and makes friends with someone better than a ferret-face like you?"

Bugger, bugger, bugger! Plan Deal and Get Over It was in jeopardy.

Draco sneered, drawing himself up to his full height (he was still shorted than Ron). "Well, seeing as he's staying at my house, it does matter. We wouldn't want him to be associating with you, just in case he accidentally brings 'poor' home with him. Besides, we're trying to keep to keep Harry's name stain free, so scourges of society like you are a liability. Imagine if on his wonderful front page story there was a mention of him being seen with you. _Then_ how would he be able to cut out the article and proudly display it to everyone?"

"Leave him alone, Harry didn't want all that," said Ginny. It was the first time she'd spoken, and she was glaring at Draco.

"Oh look, Harry, you've got yourself another ginger fan," drawled Draco, unimpressed. "But you sure do attract the thick ones, don't you? Guess it runs in the family."

"That's it!"

With a roar, Ron flung himself at Draco, but both Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket before he could reach the smaller boy.

"Ron!" said Mr Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George in tow. "What are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way as his son.

"Lucius," said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

Harry blanched. In all the possible scenarios that could occur that day, he'd not reckoned on the two wizards actually encountering one another (a rather large oversight, now that he thinks about it); he'd been more preoccupied with Draco and Ron meeting that he hadn't even considered their parents. Mr Malfoy had made it no secret how much he despised Mr Weasley, and apparently the sentiment was mutual – but the last thing Harry needed was the fathers of his two friends going at it when he was trying to build bridges.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr Malfoy. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amidst the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"Obviously not," he said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Harry could practically hear the crackle of the fires from the bridges burning.

Mr Weasley flushed darker than Ron or Ginny. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."

Merlin, it was like that night at the Astronomy Tower all over again; what _was_ it with Malfoys and Weasleys? Clearly some previously untapped pheromone is released when coming into close proximity with one another and causing uncontrollable bouts of aggression and the need to flaunt in front of others. He'd learnt about things like that from a nature documentary: when threatened, males resort to animalistic puffery****. Well, there certainly seemed to be a lot of puffy animals right then.

"Clearly," said Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowing.

Not good. Harry threw a desperate glance at Hermione, who was watching the scene with wide eyed fascination. He needed help in diffusing the situation this time around.

Stumped, she cast her gaze wildly around the store, only to widen her eyes and smile slyly. Putting on an overly bright facade, she beamed at someone over Mr Malfoy's shoulder.

"Oh _hello_, Hagrid! Fancy seeing _you_ here," she said loudly.

Stiffening, Mr Malfoy turned to face the massive form of the Hogwarts gamekeeper entering the bookshop, beetle-black eyes flashing over them.

"All right you lot? Arthur?" Hagrid growled, eyeing the Malfoys with open distrust.

"Good to see you Hagrid, but I'm afraid we were just leaving," said Mr Weasley through gritted teeth.

Mr Malfoy sneered, but Harry, seeing the opportunity, moved over to his side. Grey eyes flickered down at him for a moment, then Mr Malfoy straightened. He was still holding Ginny's old transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with a hooded malice.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you."

Placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, he nodded curtly at the Weasley's before steering Draco and Harry away.

"Bye, Harry," muttered Hermione as they passed. She knew better than to try engaging either Malfoy whilst the tension was so thick, slipping quietly from the shop.

Ron too didn't bother speaking to him further, simply nodding with an unreadable expression on his freckled face as the Weasleys filed out of the shop.

Standing in the long line for books once more, Harry let out a sigh of relief. Neither Ron nor Draco had come to physical blows that day, a definite step forward in their relationship. In fact, it had turned out better than he had dared to hope; Harry was rather pleased with himself. Plan Deal and Get Over It was a success.

* * *

><p><em>*Taken straight from Good Omens, I know, but I love that book so much!<em>

_**To anyone who may find this odd, Hermione is a Slytherin, so she's already distancing herself from her muggle parents in the magical community in order to better fit in._

_*** Author of bestseller _'My Life as a Muggle'

_****Inspired by the awesomely funny sitcom _The Big Bang Theory.

_A/N Hee hee, I had fun with this chap, I don't know why. Probably because of the pseudo smut of Harry and the ice-cream, man, was I blushing. That, and it's really fun to write the Weasleys XD_

_As always, reviews are greatly desired, they sustain me. And of course, requests will be obeyed if asked, so please feel free. Let me know if you love it, hate it, whatever, and I shall... do something that you like... I don't know, whatever =_=_

_Next Chapter Preview:_

"_What did you do, Draco?" Harry snarled._

_Draco glanced up lazily then turned back to the chessboard lying between him and Blaise. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."_

_Harry stood over him, shaking with fury. "Yes, you damn well do. I _know_ you did something to the Weasley boys."_

_Draco looked up at that, grey eyes flashing. "Prove it."_


	11. Prove it!

_A/N Yes, this is extremely late, and my only defence is that art block attacked me and anything I churned out was utter crap, so I've waited until my inspiration got back on the centaur so to speak in order to update. The eighth movie is finally out here in Oz, and this chap is dedicated to that seat-squirmingly uncomfortable scene where Voldemort hugs Draco D8( Because there hasn't been enough of him in this fic lately. I've also tried to clean up the language a bit, as everyone seems to be talking like university students instead of 12 year olds :P_

_Disclaimer: If I actually owned Harry Potter, I would be using my enormous fortune to fund research into creating a Hippogriff_

_Warnings: Canon excerpts are canon excerpts, and as stated above, don't belong to me. Kids being cruel to one another, because apparently they still need to be warned of this_

* * *

><p>Hermione was totally ruining his angry march. How was Harry supposed to enjoy his furious stomping when she refused to let go of the back of his shirt, tugging with all her might. It put a bit of a damper on his righteous indignation when he was being strangled by his own collar. And navigating between students down a train carriage was not being made any easier with his personal screaming harpy attached, nor any less embarrassing. Besides, Hermione wasn't playing fair when he couldn't actually force her off of him; he may not be a Gryffindor, but Harry would <em>never<em> go so far as to hurt a girl, no matter how annoying they are currently proving themselves at being.

"For Heaven's sake – Harry, will you just stop and _think_ for a second! You're being totally – ouch! – _irrational_. You're overreacting – no, _you_ stop it – over nothing, Harry, _nothing_! I'm sure this –you Hufflepuffs shouldn't be blocking the corridor – is all just a big misunderstanding. There could be any number of reasons they're not – _oh no –_"

Harry had finally made it to the Slytherin carriage, the door to the compartment claimed by the second year boys wide open (unfortunately; Harry had _so_ wanted to get to fling it open dramatically). Greg and Vince had seemingly bought half the lunch trolley between themselves, with an impressively sized mountain of sweets piled on their seat. Opposite them, Blaise and Draco were occupied in the game of wizarding chess balanced precariously in between them on their seat, chuckling every now and then when the tiny pieces lost their footing with the motion of the train. At the sight of his (currently former) best friend's peaceful nonchalance, Harry's rage returned full force.

"What did you do, Draco?" Harry snarled, ignoring the surprised looks from the other boys.

Draco turned and raised a pale eyebrow. "What's the matter, Harry?*" he asked innocently. Far too innocently. "Something wrong?"

Oooh, he was _so_ demoted to last name basis, that's how much trouble he's in. "Don't play dumb with me, _Malfoy_. You know what's wrong."

"I can't read your mind, Harry; I don't always know everything you're thinking about. Sometimes you have to share."

"Hah! Practice what you preach, Malfoy. How can you talk about 'sharing' when you can't even let me be _friends_ with anyone else."

"Unless I'm wrong, aren't friends with Blaise here? What about Granger and the girls? What about Crabbe and Goyle? Or don't you think they're your friends?"

"Don't try and twist my words! You _know_ who I'm talking about! And since they're not on the train and their little sister is a blubbering mess with no idea _where they are_, I'm pretty sure I can think of one person who's probably responsible for this mess."

Draco shrugged lazily then turned back to the chessboard lying between him and Blaise. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Harry couldn't believe the lying little git! He'd never thought Draco would be capable of _this_ level of maliciousness. He drew himself up to his full height and moved to stand over the blonde, shaking with fury. "Yes, you damn well do. I _know_ you did something to the Weasley boys. For some 'mysterious' reason they never made it onto the train with the rest of their family, and this is too dumb and petty to _not_ be something you'd pull. You've been plotting to get revenge on them since Diagon Alley, don't think I didn't notice. I don't know how, but you _are_ responsible for Ron and the twins being missing."

Draco looked up at that, grey eyes flashing with anger. "Prove it," he said.

Was that a _challenge_? Oh, it was _on_ now. Harry smiled without mirth, his eyes cold. "If you insist," he said grimly. Draco – no, _Malfoy_, he refused to consider him by his first name anymore – looked taken aback in the face of his determination; clearly he hadn't expected Harry to accept.

Shaking off Hermione's restraining hand; Harry grabbed his trunk from the luggage rack and hoisted Hedwig from the seat, turning on his heel without a backward glance at the rest of the compartment's occupants.

As he shouldered past, Hermione sighed. "Why must you two always insist on all this _drama_?" she said in exasperation.

Mercifully for Harry, the mystery of the missing Weasleys was solved by the time dessert was being served at the feast that night, by which time he was sulking because the Professors had rather firmly told him to stop pestering them about it and let them deal with the situation. Harry was in the middle of spooning a large amount of trifle into his bowl and very pointedly _not_ speaking to Draco when Pansy sat down with a flourish.

"You'll never guess what I've _just_ heard from my brother**" she announced with relish.

Like lightening to a metal tree, Daphne immediately turned, her inbuilt gossip radar honing in on the titbit. "Oooh, what? Spill it Pans," she said eagerly.

Always pleased to be the holder of gossip no matter the veracity, Pansy smirked but said nothing as she poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice. She was, after all, a master in the art of intrigue; she knew exactly how to play gossip to draw others interest. "Well," she said slowly, "as you know, my brother Deion is _Head_ _Boy_," (emphasis on that little detail: a good Slytherin _never_ missed an opportunity to endorse themselves) "And, of course, that means he is told all kinds of _confidential_ information from the teachers."

Now that got Hermione's attention; for her, gossip concerning anything potentially academic was always too good to pass up on, no matter the believability of the content. Draco said it was a female hormone thing to be attracted to gossip and that she couldn't help her interest; Hermione said it was a female hormone thing that she couldn't help hexing him for that bit of sexism. "Confidential information about what?" she asked curiously.

Having garnered Hermione's interest, Pansy was all the happier. But she wanted the most difficult audience: the boys. "A _very_ interesting little something about the Gryffindors." Dramatic pause. Harry turned around curiously. "About those blood-traitor Weasley boys in Gryffindor."

Boom goes the dynamite.

Now she definitely had the attention of everyone within earshot, and didn't she know it. Master of suspense (and the dramatic) that she was, Pansy let the bait dangle as she helped herself to some ice-cream.

Unusually, Draco was the first to take the bait. "Well?" he demanded impatiently.

Smirking, Pansy took a moment to swallow her mouthful before leaning forwards and saying in a _very_ carrying 'whisper', "Professor Snape told my brother that three of the Weasley boys drove a flying car here and then _crash_ _landed_ straight into the Whomping Willow!"

Daphne jumped in her seat excitedly. "They're going to be expelled for _sure_ for this stunt!" she squealed with glee.

Millie frowned sceptically. "A _flying_ car?" she repeated slowly. "But they're not old enough to drive." At that, Tracey began to laugh hysterically.

Harry's first impulse was to also to laugh and dismiss the story as the ridiculous crap Pansy often spewed. But then he caught sight of Draco's giddy expression. And he _knew_ that, somehow, the little git had managed to carry out his revenge at last.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't know whether he should laugh or cry with relief. "I don't believe it. A <em>flying car<em>? And straight into the Whomping Willow too." He shook his head and pushed off from the wall. "Talk about an entrance."

Halfway up the staircase, the (rather miserable-looking) trio of Weasleys looked up in visible surprise at his voice.

"Harry?" said Ron, startled. "Why're you all the way up here on the third floor? The Slytherins' Common Room is down in the dungeons, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because _that_ is the most important thing right now." He eyed the three of them critically; Ron had a cut over his eye and George had a split lip, but otherwise they seemed alright. "I guess the rumours were wrong if you're going to your common room, then."

Despite looking absolutely exhausted, Fred smirked. "Rumours already? We really outdo ourselves sometimes, don't we?"

"Indeed we do," agreed George proudly. "The heroic retellings of our exploits can never be contained."

Ignoring his brothers, Ron moved up next to Harry at the top of the stairs and gave him a friendly jab in the ribs by way of greeting. "What are the rumours saying?" he asked curiously.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry tried to appear nonchalant, as if he totally hadn't been worried sick all day. "Word is you lot got expelled for crashing a flying car... Into the Whomping Willow."

"That Whomping Willow had it coming!" insisted George. "Standing there in the middle of the grounds like some kind of _tree_, all happy like and un-crashed into."

Harry stared at them in awe. "So the rumours were true?"

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Ron said, "So that's a plus."

"But when Mum and Dad find out, we'll definitely be dead," assured Fred.

"That mean you really did _fly_ here?" asked Harry.

"Harry, you know us," said Fred, moving to pass him on the staircase. "We're nothing if not discreet. Us arrive by flying car? We'd never do something so flashy and impossibly cool." Harry laughed as he turned to follow the Gryffindors as they made their way up the stairs.

"Actually, speaking of being impossibly cool; I was forced to do a very un-Slytherin thing to try and save your hides tonight. And will probably lose all my Slytherin friends and becoming a social pariah in my own House because of that."

"You _what_?" now it was the Gryffindors' turn to say in awe.

Harry shrugged with feigned casualness, though the effect was thwarted by his failed attempts not to smirk. "I was able to catch Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall when they were leaving the feast and told them that the reason you missed the train was due to a prank by, uh, unknownor unmentionable persons. I would have named fingers and pointed names if I had any proof, but I think that it might have helped a little. Hopefully Professor Snape didn't hear what I said, but if he did, I'm _sure_ he was impressed by my gallant efforts."

George was the first to get it. "It was Malfoy who sealed the gate on platform nine and three-quarters, wasn't it?"

"The gateway was _sealed_?" said Harry in disbelief, ignoring the question.

Ron nodded angrily. "We were really late getting to King's Cross, so we decided to run through it, but _bam_! Solid brick. We had no idea how it happened and we couldn't contact Mum and Dad – only Percy has an owl and we can't do magic out of school – so then I suggested we take the car. It all would have been okay if the stupid car hadn't decided to die on us halfway across the lake. Straight into the Whomping Willow! _And _I broke my wand, look at it!"

He brandished the battered wand at Harry, who had to admit it didn't look too good; it had snapped almost in two, the tip dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

But something didn't quite add up. "But how could Malfoy have enchanted the gate?" mused Harry. "Like you said, we can't do magic outside of school. I mean, I know Malfoy is behind all this; he as good as told me so himself, but I figured he'd done something a little more low key. Unlike you, he doesn't like flashy."

Fred nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, he's too much of a snake in the grass to show off when there's no one to appreciate it, and there's no way he could have messed with a Ministry enchanted doorway. And Malfoy Senior wouldn't have stooped so low as pulling a childish prank on a bunch of kids, no matter how much he dislikes Dad."

They were halfway down a corridor when Percy the Prefect rounded the corner, looking thunderous. All three Weasleys groaned at the sight of their older brother marching towards them. Taking that as his cue to leave, Harry turned to grip Ron on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll find out how Malfoy did it, and when I do, I'm guessing you'll all be happy to help in a little retribution?"

Ron glanced from his older brother's furious approach to the twins and nodded. "It'll be our _pleasure_."

"_I cannot _believe _you three_," shouted Percy as he neared them, swelling with rage.

Glad that he wasn't in the House that valued bravery, Harry turned with a muttered "Good luck" and fled.

True to his word to show just how seriously pissed off he was, over the next couple of days Harry resolutely gave Draco the cold shoulder, refusing to talk to or even acknowledge the other boy, who unsurprisingly sulked when Harry refused to relent. What _was_ surprising was the fact that Hermione was doing the same thing; despite her dislike for Ron Weasley, the fact that the siblings had been forced to resort to travel by flying car after missing the Hogwarts express seemed to have struck a chord with her. After hearing what had happened from him, she had obviously drawn the same conclusion as Harry as to who the culprit was and positively radiated her disapproval whenever in the vicinity of one Draco Malfoy, who after the first day seemed wholly unconcerned that his two closest friends weren't speaking to him. Apparently, it was only a matter of time before they saw reason, though this arrogant assumption was doing no favours in redeeming himself in either their opinions.

So in a rather spiteful move, Harry had made a point in chatting quite amicably with the Weasleys whenever they crossed paths (though this was no real bother on either of their parts). The twins especially liked to act overly cheerful when they met, behaving as if Harry was an old friend they hadn't seen in years every single time, waxing poetic about his every quality and pretending to sob with joy as they repeatedly hugged him and shook his hand. The rest of the school seemed baffled by these displays but seemed happy to chalk it up on the Weasley Twins being their usual erratic selves, but astonishingly it was Harry's own house that found their interactions the most amusing.

Harry had been well-prepared for a backlash within Slytherin concerning his antics and had even fully expected a significant demotion in his points, but the senior years apparently mostly found such displays entertaining enough to take it in good humour. It was no secret to them that Harry and Draco were fighting – it was mandatory that such dramas were known throughout their House but never spilled out past the common room door; it was a Slytherin only kind of thing – and until it was resolved, the Slytherins were happy to take sides with whomever they felt like at the time, though they were more likely to publicly jeer at Harry the half-blood than Draco Malfoy.

By the Friday of the first week, Harry and Hermione were spending more time socially alone or with the Gryffindors than with their housemates, and for the first time Harry found himself unable to care that he wasn't on good terms with Draco.

That day after lunch found Harry in the courtyard getting his daily quota of very-public-hanging-out-with-a-Weasley-time, idly chatting with Ron about Quidditch as Hermione sat on a step nearby reading one of Lockhart's books (again). It was only after several minutes that Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw a very small, mousey-haired boy staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm – I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor. D'you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron beginning to grin.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forwards. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightening scar on your forehead." By this time, both Ron and Harry were red-faced: Ron due to the effort of holding in his laughter as his shoulders shook silently, Harry because this was probably the most embarrassing thing to happen to him since becoming a wizard. Colin, totally oblivious to his hero's discomfort, drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "Its _brilliant_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you –" he looked imploringly at Harry, "– maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

Mortified was not a strong enough word to describe Harry at this point. There was no way this could get any worse.

"_Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?"

The universe just loved proving him wrong.

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked by Vince and Greg since Harry and Hermione had simultaneously decided to pretend that any spot occupied by Draco Malfoy was empty. He smirked nastily at Ron before locking eyes with Harry.

"Everyone queue up!" Draco roared to the rest of the students in the courtyard. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his face threatening to melt right off if he got any more embarrassed. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin Creevey, naively unaware of the minefield he'd just tap-danced into.

"_Jealous_?" repeated Draco, who didn't need to shout anymore, half the courtyard was listening in. A sneer slowly began to curl its way over his mouth – the tip of the incoming sarcasm iceberg. "Of who? Harry – or _you_? Because I know I've _always_ wanted to get a picture with _the_ Harry Potter. Oh no, wait, no I haven't. Or did you mean I'm jealous of our wizarding hero here? You're _right_, I am. _Oh_, how I wish I had annoying midgets fawning over me and always interfering in my business. Why, oh why couldn't the Dark Lord have tried to kill _me_ so _I_ could hand out signed photos?"

"Like _you_ ever need an excuse to hand out photos of yourself," snapped Harry. "Though I don't know how you could ever give away a picture of yourself when they're all stuck revolving your humongous ego."

"_I_ have a humongous ego?" said Draco in mock surprise. "Aren't you getting mixed up? I'm not _really_ the Boy Who Lived, you know, I was just using this thing called 'sarcasm'."

That's it, time for Harry to bring out his best sneer. "I'm not the one who hogs the bathroom spending hours in front of the mirror just _looking_ at myself. Honestly, you spend more time primping than the girls do."

A couple of students in the crowd laughed at that, with Ron laughing the loudest of them all.

Draco's cheeks turned slightly pink before he twisted his face with his own sneer, handed down from his father. "_Now_ who's jealous? Just because I'm ridiculously good looking and take the proper steps in maintaining my looks, that's no reason to be so insulting. It's not _my_ fault you have that great ugly scar on your head."

Harry flinched, hand reflexively flying up to flatten his fringe self-consciously. Ron scowled on his behalf.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron said angrily. Greg immediately stepped forward threateningly, rubbing his conker-like knuckles in warning. This was a matter between Slytherins and one too many Gryffindors had butted in; Draco's bodyguards may not be the brightest candles in the castle, but they at least understood their own House's dynamics, and that meant but out if you're not in the house. If it were anyone else, Draco would have been happy to get his two boys to make the intruder back off. But this was Ron Weasley, and for Draco that meant eternal mockery and suffering whenever possible. And right now was possible.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Draco. Remember your Howler? You don't want to start any trouble or your mummy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "_if you put another toe out of line _–"

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Harry," smirked Draco. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house."

Ron furiously drew out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut her book with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Draco slid smirking into the crowd.

"Come on them, Mr Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at the tiny Gryffindor. "A double portrait, can't say fairer than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signalling the start of afternoon classes.

Harry started to extract himself from Lockhart's clutches, but the wizard refused to let go. "Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd as he set off back to the castle with Harry still clasped at his side.

Turning his head to the side, Harry mouthed "_Help_" Ron and Hermione as he passed them, but they just shrugged helplessly.

Still, it was a good thing they had Defence now, because any other teacher might have objected to Harry murdering Draco. Lockhart would probably think it was just another one of Harry's 'publicity stunts'.

* * *

><p>As the bell rang for afternoon classes, the crowd began to disperse. Draco watched as a scowling Harry was dragged away by that ridiculous Lockhart before he returned to scanning the rapidly thinning crowd.<p>

And he was in luck.

The mousey little Gryffindor hadn't moved off with everyone else, still fiddling with his camera. Draco's lip curled with disgust. A _Muggle_ camera – the nerve of that filthy little Mudblood! He strode over as casual as possible while the remaining students trickled away. He didn't need anyone getting suspicious.

"Hey," Draco said, smirking when the Mudblood jumped with surprise.

"What do you want?" asked the little Gryffindor warily.

Draco bristled at the younger boy's tone and checked to see if the coast was clear. The courtyard was empty – time to teach this uppity little brat a lesson.

The Mudblood let out a squeak as Draco lunged forward and grabbed the scarlet tie, using it to pull the other boy almost off his feet so they were nose to nose. Crabbe and Goyle immediately stepped up to flank him, both scowling impressively as the final exclamation point for Draco's intimidation.

"Listen up, Mudblood, because this is the only warning you're going to get," said Draco quietly. "Don't you dare speak to a Slytherin, especially not Harry, so casually ever again. You don't speak to us unless we speak to you, got it? What goes on between us Slytherins is none of your business, and we don't like it when people stick their great ugly noses into our business. Oh, and, in the future, you may _think_ it's alright to talk to Harry, so I'll tell you now: _don't_. Just because Harry is polite enough to not say anything doesn't mean all that attention was appreciated, so you'd better take your annoying fan-boy routine somewhere else; we don't associate with dim-witted, lowbred Muggle scum like you. And if you dare to ignore my warning, I'll just have to remind you in a more... _permanent_ way. Understand?"

The tiny Gryffindor glanced frantically around the empty courtyard for help, making Draco yank hard on the red and gold tie in warning.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" he asked coldly. Goyle cracked his knuckles.

"N-no!" squeaked the Mudblood hurriedly. "I got it! Stay away from Harry, don't talk to the Slytherins; I understand."

Satisfied, Draco released the tie, smirking when the Mudblood stumbled backwards. Brushing down his robes, Draco flicked his head dismissively. "Beat it, Mudblood," he snapped.

Picking up the Muggle camera from the ground, the Mudblood scurried away. Rolling his shoulders with a sigh, Draco made his way over to the stairs leading back to the castle, only to stop in surprise at the person standing there. He smirked.

"Something you'd like to say, Granger?" he asked as he swept past.

Granger frowned unhappily as she turned to follow him. "Did you have to handle it like that?"

Draco's smirk grew as he spread his hands. "What'd you have me do?" he asked snidely. "I was doing that brat a favour; he'd have learnt sooner or later how things work around here."

Granger smiled sadly. "I wasn't talking about _him,_" she said, leaving Draco standing in confusion.

* * *

><p>Harry was in the midst of getting better acquainted with a man-sized chocolate custard tart when it suddenly hissed, "Harry!" Considering his intentions with the confection, this seemed perfectly acceptable, right until it sprouted hands and grabbed him roughly.<p>

"Wake _up_, Harry," said the custard tart, shaking him roughly.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily, peering at the suddenly un-dessert shaped shadow above him. "Where's the tart?"

"The girls aren't up yet," drawled the dark blur. "Besides, I have an announcement."

If Harry wasn't so sleepy he would have made good on his earlier vow and murdered Draco. He rolled over, muttering a sleepy, "Shove off, Drake."

He'd halfway back into the fog of unconsciousness when ice-cold hands shoved themselves down the neck of his pyjamas.

"WAAAH!"

Shut it before I hex someone," growled a sleepy-sounding Blaise from across the room.

There was a brief struggle as the now-awake Harry tried to fight off Draco from his bed without further exposure to the cold morning air, but it soon ended with Harry slumped back on his pillow. It was too early to content with a Malfoy on a mission.

"Up, Potter," commanded Draco, tugging a limp arm.

"Why should I?" he whined. But not too early to be difficult.

"Either you get up now or Flint get's you up," said Draco simply. "You've got Quidditch practice now. He says meet at the pitch."

Harry was fumbling blindly for his green Quidditch robes before he'd finished speaking. He allowed himself a brief detour to grab some toast on the way down, not wanting to keep his captain waiting. Crossing Flint often got you 'accidently' knocked off your broom.

The rest of the team were already in the changing room, all of them looking as confused as Harry. Marcus Flint nodded as Harry sat down, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Now that you're all here, I'm sure you're wondering what all this is about," began Flint. "I know a lot of you didn't expect practice to be this early, and neither did I, but it seems that Wood wants a head start this year, and if we want to keep the Quidditch Cup, we need to be ready. There's no time for proper try-outs, so I've had to choose our new Seeker based on their performance from last year, but with a bit of training he'll be a fair match for whatever Gryffindor's got. Ah, here's our man now."

Clad in green with a broomstick over his should and smirking all over was Draco Malfoy. Harry should really learn to stop being so surprised by now when clearly he was some kind of cosmic plaything. But freedom of expression meant he couldn't stay quiet.

"Oh god _no_!" cried Harry shrilly.

Draco raised a brow. "Surprise, Harry," he said smugly.

Harry opened his mouth to shout – or scream, he hadn't decided which – but Flint intervened. "None of that, either of you," he growled, glaring at the two of them. "I don't care what's going on outside of the pitch, so don't you be bringing anything on to it. When you're wearing the robes, you play Quidditch, when you're not, it's not my problem. Got it?"

"Yes, Captain," they both grumbled.

Flint eyed them a moment longer before turning to the rest of the team. "This is Draco Malfoy, our new Seeker," he said shortly. "Today we're just going to get used to flying together again, so I don't want any trouble."

The unspoken 'or else' hung in the air as the team shouldered their broomsticks and marched out, Harry and Draco bringing up the rear.

"Like my new broom, Harry?" said Draco, oozing smugness. "Very latest model. Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. But at least we'll be matching."

The strangeness of that statement was enough for Harry to stop ignoring Draco and look at the polished new broom handle. Fine gold lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed in the early-morning sun. Harry froze in his tracks.

Draco stopped as well, watching him calmly. "Problem?" he asked, grey eyes smug.

Unable to help himself, Harry's eyes slid over his own broom handle, memories of the Christmas gone churning in his head.

Draco smiled, stepping closer. "See, Harry?" he said quietly. "I promised you we'd play Quidditch at school together. I _told_ you I always get my way. You can't stay mad at me forever, Harry, so just make things easier for everyone and come back to me. I know you want to, all you have to do is choose."

Harry watched Draco swing himself onto his brand new broom and shoot up into the sky like an emerald bullet.

Harry swallowed and gripped his broom handle hard, his most prized possession, the gift from his very first friend.

The rest of the morning flew by after that, made easier by the actual flying, but losing himself in practice was a blessed relief after spending all week with classes and agonising over the mess with Draco. And maybe it was the familiarity of flying, or maybe it was what Draco had said before practice and the reminded of their friendship, but by the time Harry touched down at the end of practice, sweaty and exhausted but glowing from playing Quidditch once more, he'd decided that enough was enough: with a simple shoulder bump Draco knew he'd made his choice. He was tired of fighting with Draco, and besides, it was so much easier when they were getting along.

If his fellow second years were surprised by their abrupt rekindling of their friendship they wisely chose to say nothing, chatting amicably as if nothing had ever happened.

Halfway through his shepherd's pie, Harry felt eyes on him and looked up. Across the hall, Ron stared at him with hurt and betrayal. Glancing at the blonde beside him to make sure he wasn't paying attention, Harry met Ron's eyes again and imperceptibly shook his head with a tiny smirk. Ron's brown eyes lit with understanding and he nodded. Turning away, Harry caught Hermione's knowing gaze. He raised a brow, and she mimicked him, eyes flickering to Draco and back. It was unsaid, but the three of them understood one another perfectly.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

* * *

><p><em>*McGonagall never says anything but "What's the matter, Harry?" and "Sherbet Lemon" – for any French and Saunders fans out there <em>

_**My apologies for creating OC's, but it seems rather far-fetched that all these pureblood families only had one child. Never fear, for they shall remain faceless and, mostly, nameless._

_A/N Hermione says it the best, Harry and Draco just can't seem to handle a normal relationship can they? Besides, it'd be boring if they always got along well, amirite ;) Reviews and suggestions are more than welcome, and if there's something you want to see in this fic, all you need do is ask. Also, please no complaints about how vicious Draco is in this chapter, because THAT IS HOW HE IS. For the love of all that's holy, I DO NOT ENDORSE THIS BEHAVIOUR._


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